


My darlin’, keep your head up, keep your heart strong

by voices_in_my_head



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:07:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25089664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voices_in_my_head/pseuds/voices_in_my_head
Summary: "Finally, he takes a deep breath and goes to sit on the edge, legs from the knee down just balancing in the air.Frank closes his eyes, keeps the slow breathing going on. (...)“Frank,” a voice, pretending to be deeper than it actually is, calls his name, honestly surprising him. Then again, the Devil isn’t supposed to be loud, is he?"Or: AU of the Punisher S1 where Frank finds a friend. Then it becomes more.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 56
Kudos: 352





	1. I could wait with you by the water

**Author's Note:**

> I have been a fan of Matt/Frank since S2 of Daredevil came out, but never got around to write it. But I've been rewatching both shows and while on S1 of the Punisher, I was like "there are some really good moments here for some nice conversations between Matt and Frank" and so this was born. Chapter 1 follows that season, while chapter 2 is when I just do what I want. This fic ignores S2 of the Punisher as well as S3 of Daredevil and the Defenders.
> 
> I've been having a wonderful time writing this, so I hope you all enjoy it :)

Frank finds an old brickhouse building and takes the fire escape up to the last floor. He has to climb the rest of the way to the roof, all along listening to some British show playing on the TV inside the apartment.

Once he’s on top, he just stands there, looks ahead. It’s pretty dark but New York being New York, even Hell’s Kitchen, there’s still a lot of lights on, enough for him to see buildings as far as the eye can see.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and goes to sit on the edge, legs from the knee down just balancing in the air.

Frank closes his eyes, keeps the slow breathing going on.

He almost went to Karen but if she didn’t want the information she got him about Micro to get him killed, she probably won’t look too fondly on the murder of Carson Wolf either, no matter how much the piece of shit deserved it.

Curtis would listen; he would understand the pain of the betrayal of knowing one of his brothers told the men gunning for him where to find him and his family after he got home.

He’ll go to him later. He wants to find Micro and he has a plan for that; could use some help and he doesn’t doubt Curtis will help.

But Frank doesn’t want him to get too close to his mess; the more he finds out, the more he realizes he stumbled into something people are willing to go to extreme measures to make sure it stays buried and if they find out he’s alive… But Curtis would be more insulted if he didn’t ask for help when he needed it than if he kept quiet for some sense of cautiousness.

“Frank,” a voice, pretending to be deeper than it actually is, calls his name, honestly surprising him. Then again, the Devil isn’t supposed to be loud, is he?

Frank turns just his head. “Red,” he returns.

Red’s just standing there, posture loose, not looking for a fight. He’s got his head slightly tilted at an angle; Frank’s never met someone who moved his head around so much, like he needed help listening.

And hell, maybe he does. He remembers all the wild shit Red kept telling him he heard whenever they met up – the _“one batch, two batch”_ rhyme, the truth about the man on the boat pretending to be Blacksmith and just a few minutes later, when two cars pulled up, he told him there were ten men with guns.

Frank’s got an idea on why the man relies on his hearing so much, but it seems so far-fetched he doesn’t spend a lot of time pondering on it. And anyway, he meant what he said all those months ago; he doesn’t care who Red is under the mask.

It’s not a bad idea, protecting your identity. Frank just doesn’t have anyone to protect. Not anymore.

“You haven’t been around for a while,” Red finally says and Frank snorts, not entirely sure why.

“’Thought that’s the way you liked it,” he replies, feeling more relaxed now than he has for the whole night.

“You killed someone tonight,” Red says and while it sounds accusatory, it doesn’t have hatred behind it. Hell, doesn’t even have that tone of holier-than-thou that the guy usually talks to Frank with.

Frank clenches his fists, doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, can feel the dried blood stretching across his knuckles. “Yeah,” he finally says and all he sounds is tired.

Red doesn’t reply and Frank turns back to look at the city. After a few more seconds, he hears Red’s footsteps, but only because he’s paying attention to it. He’s quieter than pretty much anyone Frank has ever met, and while he’s not as tall or as built as Frank, he ain’t a lightweight either.

Frank turns to look at him when he sits down beside him; instead of stretching his legs out into the air, he crosses them, the material he wears making creaking sounds.

Frank wants to ask where he trained. He’s curious; if Red doesn’t answer, he won’t take it personally and he sure won’t lose sleep over it, but suddenly he wants to know more about this guy. Frank knows what motivates him, but what the hell gets a guy out of bed, into a stupid costume, and out into the night to stop crime he’s not even connected to?

“You ever stop, Red?” Is what he settles on.

Red turns to him, still with that tilted angle to his head. He seems to be studying Frank, looking for something, so Frank just stays still; he ain’t got nothing to hide.

“What do you hear?”

“What?” Frank frowns; what type of question is that?

“What can you hear right now?” Red asks, in a patient tone.

Frank keeps frowning, but decides to entertain the question. “Our breathings,” is what he starts with. Both are pretty slow, not too heavy. Guess that’s what happens when they’re not fighting nor running for their lives. He tries to listen for the TV that was on at the apartment below them when he first climbed up, but can’t hear it; doesn’t know if it’s been turned off or if the isolation in this building is better than expected.

“Sirens,” another pause, “a dog barking.” Frank stops, listens for a few more seconds. “And the wind.”

It’s not a particularly windy night; he doesn’t feel cold up here, but it’s not warm either, Spring just starting to really show up.

Red doesn’t say anything so Frank turns to him, “what can you hear?”

“There’s twenty-eight people in this building. Twenty are asleep; two are watching films, two are reading – one is studying for Medicine –, two are just turning around in their beds, trying to fall asleep, and two are having sex.”

Frank stares at Red.

“You can hear all that?” He knew his hearing was good, but this is… Some powered people shit.

Red nods, having turned his head to stare ahead again. “If I focus, I can hear even more. The people in the buildings closest by, and then of course… Mugging, rapists, murder…”

“Shit, Red. That why you do what you do?”

“If I listen to someone in pain, someone being hurt, and I don’t do anything to stop it… I’m as bad as them.”

“No,” Frank immediately says, doesn’t even have to think about it. “You’re not.”

Red turns to him and Frank realizes that this is possibly the closest the two of them have ever been; at least when not fighting each other. The lenses in Red’s eyes are red, like blood when hit by light. Frank wonders how he sees through them; red as well? There’s the other option, of course, but Frank still hasn’t decided just how curious he is to find out.

If he’s wrong, Red will never let him hear the end of it. If he’s right… Frank wonders if that’s what would push him off the edge; if he’d kill Frank to keep his identity secret. Somehow, he doubts that, even though it could end up biting him in the ass down the road.

“The first night I went out,” Red starts and Frank forces himself to pay attention to his words. “It was for a man who was abusing his daughter.”

Frank’s breath gets stolen at that, but Red isn’t done.

“I’d heard him the night before. Either they were new in the block, or he’d been doing it at times I wasn’t around, because I’d never heard it before,” Frank almost tells him to stop, that he doesn’t want to hear the rest of it, but that sure ain’t gonna stop it from having happened. “I threw a brick through his window and stopped it. Stayed awake the rest of the night to make sure he didn’t go back.” He pauses and Frank can’t look away.

“I called child services and they showed up around lunch time but the mom didn’t believe it; the dad was too good at keeping things… hidden and the girl… I could hear her heartrate like she was standing right beside me, so scared.”

There’s another pause and Frank twitches his fingers on the right hand, almost moves it up to take a hold of Red’s shoulder, or something, but decides not to move in the end.

“So I found him that night. Followed him to work and then beat the shit out of him,” a pause. “He spent a month in the hospital, eating through a straw.”

“Good,” is Frank’s immediate reply.

Red laughs and it doesn’t sound amused at all. “Not gonna tell me I should have killed him instead?”

“Yeah, you should have,” Frank says, unapologetic, “but at least you made it stop. Do you…” He stops, not sure how to continue, but Red seems to get what he’s getting at.

“I still pay attention to the girl. They’re going to trial for what happened to her.”

“Mom finally believed her?”

“Asshole slapped her and she seemed to realize he wasn’t the man she thought he was. And if he could hurt her… The girl didn’t want to say what he’d done to her at the beginning.”

Frank doesn’t say anything; doesn’t know what to say and Red seems to have reached the end of his story.

He can’t imagine what it must be like to be Red. If Frank goes looking for it, he’ll find some trouble, no doubt about it. But to simply be able to hear it? He wasn’t lying when he told Red he wasn’t as bad as the perpetrators; they were the ones choosing to hurt other people, not Red. But he can understand why the idea of simply putting a pillow over your ears and pretending you can’t hear anything seems like a pretty shitty one. If it was Frank… Well, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have stopped that guy with just a brick through his window.

“Where’d you learn to train?” Frank asks and Red turns to him, smiles, showing just a bit of his teeth.

“I think this is enough sharing for one night, don’t you, Frank?”

Frank shrugs, “fair enough.” He doesn’t say that he has no idea if they’ll get another chance. They’re not friends, they’re… Vigilante acquaintances, at most. _Co-workers_ and he almost laughs at that.

“The man I killed tonight…” He starts and suddenly his heart is beating faster. Red must be able to hear it; what does he think it’s about? Excitement, regret, a lust for blood? “His name was Carson Wolf. He was Homeland’s Security Special Agent in charge; the big man in charge, basically.”

He stops again, almost doesn’t want to say the next words, like keeping them quiet will make them untrue. But that’s really not how it works. So he takes a deep breath and just plunges in.

“I got my family killed, Red.”

Red makes a noise, similar to the one Frank did when he started his story about the girl. “Frank-” He starts but he doesn’t let him finish, just continues right on top.

“They killed them because of me. Because they wanted to make sure I didn’t babble about Afghanistan. The thing is… The thing is, if they’d put a gun in my hand and told me I either blew up my brains or they did the same to my family, I wouldn’t have hesitated for one fucking second.”

His breathing keeps coming ragged, like he’s finished running a marathon.

(Maria had mentioned that Lisa had told her she wanted to do it when she was eighteen in one of their calls, but Lisa hadn’t brought it up when he’d come home and Frank hadn’t either.)

“But instead… They killed them. My wife… My babies,” Frank stops, can’t keep going. Red puts a hand on his arm, squeezes, and Frank leans just a bit on him. “And you know how they knew where we’d be that day?” Frank stops, like he’s actually waiting for a response, but Red just keeps quiet, squeezes his arm again, and then just leaves his hand resting there. “One of my brothers told them. I was always telling them about the tradition we had, you know? And one of them betrayed me.”

Red squeezes again, this time harder.

“I’ve no idea who it is,” Frank says. “We were brothers, you know? Some of them, I wouldn’t help them get home if they were too drunk, but I’d still take a bullet for them. That’s what a brotherhood is, you know? At least over there.”

He finally stops, doesn’t know what to say next. Doesn’t think there’s anything else to be said, really.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” Red says and Frank turns to him, remembers the guy crying as he told him about holding his baby girl’s dead body in his arms.

Frank doesn’t say anything, just studies him for a bit longer, knows that he means it.

“You should throw me off this building,” he says and Red lets go, leaning back in surprise, maybe some shock. “It’s the only way you’ll stop me from killing every single motherfucker who went after my family,” Frank promises, his voice sounding even more ragged than usual.

Red keeps his body leaned back, doesn’t say anything for a while. Frank’s heartrate has gone down again, but he can almost hear it. Red most certainly can; he’ll know Frank’s not lying. Then again, in this case, it’s probably unnecessary. He knows Frank, knows the blood in his hands. What’s a few more dead bodies?

“I’m not going to kill you,” Red finally says. “And we all know how well it turned out last time you got arrested.”

Frank nods, then thinks of something else and says, “the people I kill… That ain’t on you, Red.”

Red frowns; got it right in one. The guy’s pretty predictable once you know him a bit better.

“I could stop you but I’m choosing not to.”

“Yeah, and I could choose not to go after them. That’s my choice,” he pauses. “For someone always preaching about the sanctity of life and redemption and all that shit, you don’t seem to put a lot of faith in free will.”

Red frowns, but doesn’t say anything right away; it’s alright, Frank’s pretty sure he’s given him some food for thought.

He takes a deep breath and gets up, stretches up once he’s standing, hearing a lot of his bones cracking. Red makes a face at that and Frank laughs. It’s short but it’s real. It stops almost as soon as it starts though; he can’t remember the last time he laughed, and it doesn’t feel right.

“What else can you hear, Red?” Frank asks but Red doesn’t answer, just stands up. Honestly, he wasn’t expecting an answer, just figured he might as well give it a shot.

“I’ll see you around, Frank,” Red promises and then he just… flips off the building. Frank rolls his eyes.

“Show-off,” he says, not in a loud voice, sure that Red still hears it. Then he starts the climb down.

.

Frank leaves Karen standing by the side of the river and then goes to find a high building in Hell’s Kitchen to climb up.

He thought Red was the most annoying man he’d ever met but man, that was before he got to meet David “Micro” Lieberman. At this point, Frank truly doesn’t know what’s more likely; that they’ll somehow fix the mess they’ve found themselves in together, or that one will end up killing the other.

Red keeps showing up in his thoughts; he’d be a good ally to have by his side. But he also remembers him saving him from the Irish, and how he fought both alongside Frank and against him, making sure he didn’t kill anyone.

Frank admires his strength of will, about as much as he’s annoyed by it.

This time, he isn’t caught unaware. He’s been standing on top of a random roof – not the same as last time – for about fifteen minutes when he hears footsteps to his right and turns to it.

“My heart beat give me away?” Frank asks.

“Yeah,” Red replies and it’s too dark for Frank to see his face with detail from where he’s standing, but he’s still pretty sure the guy is smirking. What a dick.

“Sorry about that,” Frank says, with a smile playing at his lips, though he doesn’t even know why he’s saying these stupid fucking words.

“It’s okay. As far as heartbeats go, yours isn’t the worst I’ve heard,” Red says, sounding like he’s doing Frank a favor or something. It makes Frank laugh.

Red walks towards him, stopping when he’s close enough that Frank can see his face better; there’s a bruise on his chin.

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon.”

Frank shrugs, “’been hanging out with a guy, even more annoying than you. Guess that made me realize you weren’t all that bad.”

Red laughs, tilting his lips up and Frank is kind of mesmerized by it, is sure that his heart goes faster just for a second and damn it, before he met Red that wasn’t something he paid attention to. He wonders what Red makes of that sound; he might hear heartrates, but it’s not like he can hear thoughts.

Jesus, Frank hopes he can’t hear thoughts, for both their sakes.

“You shot me in the head; I’m almost afraid what you’ll do to this guy,” Red says and while his tone hasn’t gone closed off, the words really aren’t that much of a joke.

“Yeah, I tied him naked to a chair and kept throwing buckets of cold water at him whenever he fell asleep,” Frank says and he’s pretty sure that if Red took his helmet off, he’d get to see him with raised eyebrows.

“He must have pissed you off.”

“Yeah,” Frank says, but this time doesn’t offer more. Where to even start with the shitshow he and Lieberman have found themselves knees deep in?

Red doesn’t say anything for a while and finally, Frank forces out, “I’m sorry. For shooting you.”

“No, you’re not,” Red immediately counters, but he doesn’t sound accusatory at all.

Of course not; Frank’s the guy who shot him point blank in the head, tied him to a roof to make him choose between killing him and letting him kill another guy… and now they’re meeting on roofs.

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t hurt you permanently,” Frank says and Red doesn’t say anything for a while, instead tilting his head. Frank wonders if anyone’s ever told him that it really ruins the whole silent, dangerous vibe he’s got going.

“The guy who made my suit…” He starts, pauses for a couple seconds, then continues, “he told me I was lucky. That I didn’t die from the shot, that is.”

Frank grunts. “I wasn’t trying to kill you, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, you just wanted me out of the way,” Red says and this time there is something in his tone but Frank, for the life of him, can’t figure out what it is.

“I don’t kill just anyone, Red. And you’re one of the good ones.”

Red is silent once again.

“You smell of guns. More than last time,” he says and Frank can’t help but to raise his eyebrows.

“Shit, you got good hearing, and good smell?”

Red shrugs, “I’m a master of all trades.”

Frank rolls his eyes, decides to move right past that one. “Yeah, I robbed a truck filled with guns.”

Red doesn’t say anything right away; Frank wonders if he really is weighing the pros and cons of just throwing him out of the building.

“You’re going to war.”

“’Don’t think I ever really left it,” Frank says, his voice sounding more ragged than normal. Red is quiet again and then he takes two steps forward. Frank feels the urge to step back, though he doesn’t. Doesn’t really know where the urge came from either; he sure as hell doesn’t feel like prey around Red, but he’d be an idiot if he thought it was the other way around.

“I hope you get to leave one day, Frank,” Red says and Frank’s heart doubles its rhythm again. He just sounds so… honest.

“’Thought you wanted me in prison, Red,” is what Frank settles on, doesn’t know what else the fuck to say to Red’s words.

Red is quiet for a few seconds and Frank’s heart is still going faster than usual, seems to have decided this is the normal for now. Shit, a guy has a gun to his head and his heart doesn’t go up a notch, this guy with a few fancy words… And of course it’d happen around the guy who can actually hear his heartbeat.

“I want you to have peace, Frank,” Red says and Frank doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels disbelief at first, which then turns to anger, and then it goes back all the way to disbelief. He laughs.

“Shit, Red, you really are a good Catholic, uh?”

For a second there, he thinks Red is going to get angry, but eventually he just shrugs.

“I don’t think prison will suit you better the second time around.”

“I get you not killing me, but you could hope someone else does it.”

“I don’t hate you, Frank,” Red says and he’s frowning, like the idea of it is ludicrous.

“Hate’s got nothing to do with it. The world would be better without me in it, right?” Frank asks and it’s not that he wants to start a fight with Red, but suddenly the words are just coming out and he can’t stop them.

“No,” Red answers right away, jaw clenched and Frank actually believes him. Then he snorts and looks away. “I mean in, Frank. You… You’ve suffered a lot, and you’ve caused a lot of pain but I…” He stops and Frank turns back to him, just staring into the eyes of the mask, heart still going faster than normal in his chest. Finally, Red sighs, “the world wouldn’t be a better place without you in it. I don’t believe it for a second.”

Frank just stares at him, doesn’t really know what to say.

“Yeah, well, even though what you do are half-measures, I actually think the world is better with you in it,” he tells Red, all gruffly.

Red smiles, a big, real one, and there goes Frank’s heart.

“Thank you, Frank,” Red says and Frank finally takes that one step back, trying to reinforce some personal space.

“Yeah, well, don’t let it get to your head.”

“Of course not,” Red replies, still with that smile playing around his lips.

Frank realizes that Red might actually enjoy his company. Frank doesn’t know how to deal with that. He currently has three people in his life that he keeps in touch with: Curtis, who’s his brother in everything but blood; Micro, who if they actually make it out of this alive, he never wants to see again and Karen, who is… A new friend, and who he knows does worry about him. But despite everything, Karen doesn’t know him like Red does.

Red really has seen the ugliest parts of Frank. Or, at least, what he assumes are the ugliest parts.

“The last mission in Afghanistan… The one they came after me and my family for. It wasn’t…” He stops, doesn’t really know how to continue. “War’s not black and white. But before that, it was always easy to see the line; us and them. That last mission… Capture targets of interest, question them and kill them.”

“Jesus,” Red says, and now he’s the one who’s taken a step back. _Good_ , he should know exactly who Frank is.

“They didn’t give us details about the targets. We had our orders and we did them. But…”

“You started having doubts?”

“There was a mission where we were told to grab a target and we’d been doing this for a year, so they knew who we were. I told Schoonover it was a trap but he and the big shot, Agent Orange, they still gave the go ahead. So we went in and it was… a shit show. Pretty much none of us came out of it without a gun wound, and that was if we were lucky. Good men were lost that night and you know what Agent Orange had to say about it? All he did was ask if we’d gotten our target.”

“Jesus,” Red repeats himself, but Frank isn’t really paying attention, too lost in the memories.

“I got so fucking angry, Red. Just… The way he was treating us, like we weren’t even human beings, just cannon fodder,” Frank pauses, exhales noisily. “I punched him right in the face.”

“But you didn’t get discharged.”

“Nah, that would have implied making public the details of the operation and no one wanted that,” he pauses again. “My friend, Billy, he was the one who pushed me away from the guy. He told me… _Look at yourself_.”

Red doesn’t reply and Frank just keeps staring at the right of his head. When he does continue, it’s in a quieter tone. He notices his heartrate has finally gone down.

“He’d requested back to Force; told me to do it too. _Let’s get out._ ” He stops, frowns, can still hear Billy’s words in his head.

He finally turns his head to Red, who is still standing there, staring, lips thinned out, though he neither looks angry nor disgusted.

“I wasn’t gonna go back. Maria,” saying the name hurts, but he forces himself past it. “She didn’t really believe me when I told her, that first morning after I got back. We’d talked about me leaving, but I always went back. But that last mission… I wasn’t going back.”

Red doesn’t say anything right away and Frank exhales. Then he finishes, “I wasn’t going to say nothing. I might not agree with everything we did, but it was our mission and I have to believe… That it wasn’t all wrong. That some good intel did come out if. But they killed my family for it instead. To keep their dirty little secrets.”

Red slowly starts walking forward again, keeps getting closer and Frank thinks he might put a hand on his arm again, but no, Red foregoes all that and instead… Hugs him.

The last person who hugged Frank was Karen, just a few days ago. The time before that… Curtis, when he first showed up before Curtis’ group session.

Red’s hug is different from theirs. Not as desperate, not as physical; Karen and Curtis had been grounding him, as if they wanted to make sure he was really there, and that he wasn’t leaving. Red’s is… comforting.

Frank doesn’t know the last time he got a comforting hug. From Maria, maybe, the night before he lost everything.

She’d never asked questions, but she knew he wasn’t as solid as he acted. And she never judged him for it.

Frank almost moves away; doesn’t want to ruin his memories of his wife with Red’s touch. But he knows that’s not what Red is trying to do, that he’s just… A good man, who sees Frank’s pain and is trying to make it better.

Frank has absolutely no idea what to do. He doesn’t hug back, but Red doesn’t seem to be waiting for that either. He just keeps holding on, one arm around Frank’s left shoulder, his hand touching the other, and the other arm around his waist.

Frank doesn’t cry, but his breathing is louder than normal; too loud in the quietness around them. Must feel like a hammer jack against Red’s ears.

He gets the sudden urge to tell Red he’s pretty sure he knows who he is. On one hand, if Red hasn’t told him yet, that’s his choice and Frank wants him to keep that anonymity, but on the other hand, it feels like he’s lying, pretending that he doesn’t know.

But in the end, he decides this isn’t the right moment. Red is doing something good for him and Frank knows how important that is to him; the least he deserves is to get home with that feeling. That he did good.

“Thanks, Red,” Frank finally says and Red lets go, moving a step back so that they can look at each other without getting their eyes crossed, but not enough that they have a regular amount of personal space between them.

“Frank,” Red starts and then pauses. Frank just waits him out. “Get your phone out.”

Frank raises his eyebrows, takes a moment before doing as told. Red starts dictating a number and Frank saves it, almost doesn’t believe the guy is really giving him his number.

“Call me if you need me,” Red says after the last digit. Frank doesn’t put the phone back in his pocket right away.

“Red-”

“I’m not going to help you kill people, Frank. But… If you’re in a dire situation, if you need help getting out of a place… Call me and I’ll help.”

Frank doesn’t say anything right away. He wonders if this is because of the roof, when Frank helped take down those ninjas, but knows that’s not the way Red works. He wants to help, so he’s doing it.

“Thanks, Red,” Frank finally says, putting the phone inside a pocket. “You want my number?”

“You don’t have to,” Red says, sounding weirdly… Well, not like he doesn’t want to, but like he believes Frank is going out of his way by offering. Like it’s perfectly fine for Red to offer to help him out, even when he hates his methods, but it’s weird for Frank to want to do the same for him.

“No. If you need me, I’ll be there. Might even play by your rules,” Frank says. Not because he really wants to, but because if there’s one thing he knows is that Red will blame himself for any deaths Frank causes around him. And Frank figures the guy already has enough guilt without Frank’s misplaced one on top of it.

Red doesn’t say anything, but finally he passes his phone over. Frank takes it, enters his number.

“It’s under Frank,” he says as he passes it over and Red pauses. Yeah, that’s probably something weird to say to a guy except if you think he can’t read it. But Red doesn’t mention it, finally taking the phone, and so neither does Frank.

They stay standing there for a few more moments. Then Red tilts his head, listening to something Frank can’t and he’s already moving to the edge.

“See you around, Frank,” he says, and then he’s gone.

“See ya, Red,” Frank says, knowing he can hear him. Then he goes to find his own way out of the building.

.

Frank and David make their way back to the city in silence.

They came so damn close… And lost because Frank didn’t imagine that a secretive bastard like Agent Orange wouldn’t be holed up in a safehouse with bulletproof windows.

“Let me out in Hell’s Kitchen,” Frank tells David after over an hour of silence. He can see David turn to glance at him, but keeps his head turned ahead.

“You visiting a friend?”

Frank smiles real quick at that, imagines what David’s reaction would be if he told him just what friend he had in the Kitchen. God, he’d never let him live it down; definitely would follow Frank on every camera in the city, trying to get a glimpse of the suited vigilante. Frank is also pretty sure David wouldn’t rest until he found out just who was under the mask, because he was a paranoid, curious bastard, and Frank isn’t letting that happen. So he doesn’t say anything else and David keeps driving.

“Any place in particular?” David asks sometime later.

“Anywhere is fine,” Frank answers and not five minutes later, David is stopping around a corner. Frank gets out without a word and David drives away.

This time, Frank doesn’t immediately go look for a tall building to climb. Instead he just walks around.

The safehouse wasn’t that close to the city, so it’s already pretty dark, not that many people around.

Frank wonders if they feel safer with the Devil roaming the streets or if they want him caught.

After a few streets he passes by a bar where there’s a group of women outside giggling and talking loudly at each other. He stops just ahead of them, waits for all of them to get into a taxi to keep walking.

Rain’s started falling, but it’s not strong yet, so Frank doesn’t bother putting the hoodie on. He kind of likes rain, likes the sound it makes as it falls on the concrete. He wonders what Red gets from hearing it; can’t be all that quiet with senses like that.

“Frank,” a voice sounds from the alley to his right and Frank turns to it.

“Speak of the devil,” he says in an amused tone, smile playing around his lips.

“Aw, were you thinking about me, Frank?” Red asks and Frank can hear the smile in his lips. At least one of them has been having a good night.

“I was thinking about what rain must sound like to you,” Frank says, finally close enough to Red to see him.

Red doesn’t say anything right away, then he smiles again; quick, showing off his teeth. “I can’t hear every single drop individually, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

This time, it’s Frank who doesn’t say anything right away. That sounded like a cop out if he ever heard one, but he doesn’t know if he wants to push it.

“Can’t be easy,” he finally settles on, “living through life with augmented senses.”

Red shrugs, but Frank can see his jaw is clenched tighter than usual. “I’m used to it.”

“You been this way your whole life?” Frank asks, genuinely curious and again, Red just stares at him, doesn’t say anything.

He turns his head up, still in silence, catching the raindrops on his skin. Frank wonders if he has his eyes closed; can’t tell with the lenses.

“No,” Red finally says, still with his head turned up.

He doesn’t offer anything else and Frank decides not to push it. Red is as stubborn as they come; if he wants to keep silent about something, he’ll damn well do it.

“Almost had my guy today,” Frank says and Red finally turns his head to him. “Agent Orange,” he specifies.

“The guy in charge of your cover operations in Afghanistan?” Red asks, seriously, remembering one of their conversations.

“Yeah,” Frank says, nods. “Had him in my scoop and I took the shot.” Red doesn’t say anything, just waits it out. “Bulletproof glass.”

Red still doesn’t say anything and Frank comes really close to saying _“you’re probably happy I didn’t kill him”_ but he knows that would be unfair. Red might not want him to kill anyone, but he also knows what Agent Orange’s done and that this is just a setback; Frank always gets his guy and this time sure won’t be different.

“And how was your day, Red?” Frank finally asks. Their conversations are pretty much always about Frank and he’s actually curious about Red’s life. Though he doubts he’ll get many details.

“It was good. I met with a friend.”

“Yeah? You have those?” Frank asks, smiling and Red laughs.

“Asshole,” he says and Frank laughs. It’s kind of amusing getting the guy to swear. After a few more seconds, Red continues, this time in a more serious tone. “We’ve been… Going through a rough patch. I let him down some months ago.”

“But you’re making up for it,” Frank says and Red nods.

“I’m trying to. He’s… Meeting him was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

“Flowers and chocolates go a long way,” Frank says and Red snorts.

“We’re not like that. He’s my brother,” Red says, and while he sounds convincing, the words don’t sound natural coming out of his mouth, not like they have from Frank’s.

Frank nods. Then, “I’m glad you’re patching it up. Having people in your life… That’s important.”

“Always figured you for a lone wolf,” Red says and Frank shakes his head.

“I do my best work alone, but having people around you is important. In the end, that’s all we have, isn’t it?”

It takes Red a few seconds to answer, but finally he says, “yeah.”

Frank opens his mouth to say something, but closes it without saying anything. Red just waits him out and Frank knows he won’t ask, that he’ll leave it to Frank to decide whether he wants to speak or not. He opens his mouth again.

“It hurts to think of my family. But it hurts more to not think of them, you know? Like… I’ll forget them and they’ll cease to exist.”

“You could never forget them,” Red says, sounds as convincing as one can.

“Not the big things, no, but the small things? Hell, I’ve already started to paint reality in a nicer light. Me and Maria had our fights but that’s not what I focus on, you know? Instead I… Imagine her in a nice dress; she barely wore pants, you know? Real traditional but God help whoever decided to tell her what she could and couldn’t do,” Frank says and kind of laughs at it. Red smiles too.

Red seems to be waiting for Frank to say something else, but when he doesn’t, he says, “maybe that’s not a bad thing. Only remembering the good. Why would you want to remember the bad?”

“I wanna remember them as they were,” Frank says, his voice sounding more ragged than usual.

Red doesn’t say anything right away. Then, “my dad died when I was nine. And he wasn’t perfect and neither was our life, but I don’t think of the times he lost his patience with me or I yelled at him. I think of the good times,” he laughs, half amused, half not, “maybe most people wouldn’t think of them that way. He was a boxer, so I used to stitch him up. Had my first drink at eight. He told me he didn’t want my hands shaking as I stitched the skin above his eye,” he laughs again and Frank joins him, a quick bark of laughter.

“How old were you the first time you stitched him up?” Frank asks and pays attention to Red’s face – at least what he can see from it – as he speaks. He looks more relaxed than he ever has in Frank’s presence and Frank doesn’t want to miss a second of it.

“Almost eight. He started teaching me to sew on fabrics since I was six. His mom taught him; she told him all men should know how to stitch up a pair of socks, do the laundry and cook at least four meals.”

“She and Maria would have gotten along,” Frank says and there’s still that pang in his heart; the reminder that Maria won’t get to get along with anyone ever again, but it doesn’t suffocate him anymore.

Red smiles and Frank realizes he’s completely forgotten the reason that first brought him to Hell’s Kitchen. He still feels pissed about not getting Agent Orange, but it doesn’t feel like it did hours ago, seeing that asshole from the scoop, backing up a step, surprised, but not really afraid.

Frank wants him afraid.

“I should go,” he says, feeling more relaxed than he first felt when Red showed up, but now that Agent Orange is back in his mind, he can’t really let it go.

“Alright,” Red says, doesn’t sound annoyed at all.

“Hey,” Frank starts, before leaving. “What gives me away? My footsteps, my breathing… My heartbeat?”

“Even for Hell’s Kitchen, you smell of guns more than pretty much anyone else,” Red says, smiling, and Frank scoffs. He didn’t smell of guns – not that much, anyway – when they first met on a rooftop. But he decides to let it go; maybe one day he’ll actually get a real reply.

One day. Frank is already thinking of seeing Red again and he doesn’t shy away from it. The guy sure as hell annoyed him when they first met, but he likes him now. Red is… Not a beacon, but he’s a good thing in a pile of bad things.

“See you next time,” Frank says and it takes a second, but Red nods.

“See you around,” he promises and then Frank turns around and leaves the alley. He’s got a long walk ahead of him.

.

After Frank’s laid David down in his bed, he goes outside. He’s not drunk, but he’s certainly more buzzed than he’s been in a while.

He could have easily turned to the bottle the last few months, but he’s made a conscious decision not to. He still has no idea what the hell the rest of his life is supposed to look like – however long that is – but it’s not at the end of a bottle.

Still, he doesn’t hate the feeling. Now that he doesn’t have to worry about David, he allows himself to stumble a bit. It’s not like he’s seeing in circles or anything, but his balance is a bit shot to hell.

Frank gets his phone out and calls one of the numbers saved without thinking twice about it.

“Where are you?” Red’s voice immediately asks, picking up just after a couple of rings.

“It’s not an emergency,” Frank says, feels kind of guilty for making Red think that.

“Oh,” Red says.

“David’s wife kissed me.”

Red is silent for a few seconds, then, “I have no idea what that means.”

Frank laughs; right, the guy might know a lot about Frank’s life, but he doesn’t actually know everything.

“I’ve told you about David. The annoying guy, remember?”

“More annoying than me, right,” Red says, and he sounds amused.

“Yeah, exactly,” Frank replies. “But he’s grown on me. Well, usually, tonight he’s been a real asshole. But can’t fully blame him; kissed his wife, after all.”

“’Thought she kissed you.”

“Yeah, but I kissed back. For a couple seconds,” Frank says and Red doesn’t reply. Maybe he’s waiting for Frank to elaborate, to tell him why, but even Frank doesn’t know that. Part instinct, part… something else. “She told me I was the second guy she’d kissed in fifteen years. ‘Been about the same time for me.”

Red still doesn’t say anything, and Frank raises a hand to rub his eyes. What the hell is he even saying anymore?

“’Should probably mention that she thinks her husband is dead, has been for a year.”

“Why does she think that?” Red asks and Frank is pretty sure he’s frowning.

“David was an NSA analyst. The shit I did for Agent Orange? A video of it ended up in his computer. When he tried to go public with it…”

“They went after him.”

“Yeah, so he faked his death. His family’s safe, at least.”

“Frank-” Red starts and Frank already knows what’s coming, so he talks right on top of him.

“Save it, Red.”

“No, I think you need to hear this. What happened to your family isn’t your fault. You were following orders, not your fault you were being used for something more than you signed up for.”

Frank doesn’t say anything right away. “Following orders isn’t exactly a get out of jail card.”

“No, it isn’t. But you were doing what you thought was right. Or, at least, the best thing for your country.”

They spent over a year doing missions for Agent Orange; Frank wonders just how many actually did any good for the safety of their country in the end.

“So, David,” Red starts the conversation back up and Frank forces himself to focus on the present.

“Yeah, we were just shooting the shit. Talking about how we met our wives. You have anyone special, Red?”

There’s a pause. Then, “no.”

“Shit,” Frank says, remembers the dead body on that rooftop, all those months before. “I’m sorry Red, I didn’t mean…”

“It’s okay,” Red replies. Frank keeps quiet and eventually he continues, “her name was Elektra. She was… a hurricane.”

“How did you two meet?”

Red laughs, “during college, me and… My friend, we used to sneak inside fancy parties. For the drinks and the food. Anyway, there was this one, where it was obvious I didn’t fit it. She told a security guard I was with her and he let me stay. We started this game… Making assumptions about each other.”

“She get it right?”

“I don’t think we would have kept talking otherwise,” a pause. “Anyway, she stole a convertible at the end of the night. She drove like… Like she didn’t care. Like the world was just there to amuse her.”

“Sounds like one hell of a woman.”

“Yeah,” Red says and when he continues, he doesn’t sound as nostalgic anymore. “We were together for a few months but eventually… We weren’t compatible. It wasn’t a pretty break up; I started drinking a lot.”

“She broke your heart,” Frank summarizes and Red laughs, though he doesn’t sound all that happy about it.

“Yeah, she did.”

Frank doesn’t say anything, just waits Red out; maybe there’s more things he wants to say, maybe there isn’t. Eventually, they’re simply waiting each other out in the quietness of the night. Whatever else Red feels about Elektra, and her death, he’s keeping to himself.

“You and David gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” Frank answers. They have to be, right? “He showed me his dick.”

“What?” Red asks, his words caught in the midst of laughter. “You kissed his wife and then he showed you his dick?”

“Wanted me to know he’s quite hung and he’d be a tough act to follow,” Frank says and now he’s laughing too. What the hell has his life come down to?

“That is… The most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all day,” Red says, still sounding amused.

“Yeah, believe me, I was pretty damn surprised too.”

Red laughs for a couple more seconds before asking, “so, was he?”

“What?” Frank asks, sure that Red isn’t asking what he thinks he’s asking.

“Well endowed.”

“Jesus Christ,” Frank says, but the smile is still playing around his lips. “I only caught a glimpse of it but yeah, he ain’t got nothing to be ashamed of.”

Red laughs again and Frank wishes they could have had this conversation face to face. He likes watching Red laugh.

“I’m sure you’re not too bad yourself, Frank,” Red says.

“Jesus Christ,” Frank repeats himself, “we are not having this conversation. What is this, fifth grade locker room?”

“’Don’t know. Got out of gym because of a health condition,” Red says and he sounds… Like he’s aware that he’s giving away more details of his life. But Frank has decided to leave it in Red’s hands if he ever chooses to tell him his real identity and he’s sticking to it, so he moves right past it.

“Lucky you.”

“Come on, guy like you? I’m sure you were more a jock than a nerd.”

“Neither. I was… Well, I liked to hurt people. Don’t worry Red, I went after those who could take me.”

“A bully who went after bullies,” Red says in a sardonic tone and Frank snorts.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Always looking for the oldest, meanest kid to piss off. Got my nose broken quite a few times.”

“Yeah? How many times has it been broken by now?” Red asks, sounding genuinely curious, and it’s such a… Normal question. Like Frank’s and David’s conversation before David started being a maudlin drunk.

But they’re not really normal people, are they? Still, that doesn’t mean Frank can’t enjoy these moments.

“Fourteen times,” he finally replies.

“How can you even breathe anymore?” Red asks and he sounds like the little shit Frank is used to.

“Ah ah, you’re so fucking funny,” Frank replies and Red laughs.

“No, really, how the hell did you break your nose fourteen times?”

“A few times were accidents. Didn’t see where I was going. Most times I got hit; once, with the butt of a gun.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s healed so well,” Red says.

“Thanks,” Frank replies and then it’s quiet again. Not awkward, but there isn’t really much else to say either. “I should leave you to it.”

“Yeah, crime in New York never rests,” Red says, half joking, half serious.

“Be careful, Red. You’re only one man.”

“I am,” Red says, but Frank isn’t all that sure; Red’s the type of guy who’ll bleed out before he accepts his limitations. But it’s not like Frank exactly has any high ground to stand on. “Be good, Frank,” Red says and Frank makes a humming noise, has no idea just what that’s supposed to mean. But maybe it really is just a wish for him to stay well.

They disconnect but Frank stays standing outside for a few more minutes. Tonight was the first night he talked of Maria in a long time. He decides to enjoy it, to remember that first conversation, the first date, the first few months…

It hurts, but it’s also good to remember her.

Finally, he moves back inside. Should still get a chance to get some shut eye before he has to get David up and have a serious conversation with him about not going to Madani.

.

Frank goes back to the safehouse, but David isn’t around. All the TVs are on and no matter the station, they’re all reporting the same news: Frank Castle, the Punisher, is alive.

Frank stays there, just watching and listening, for several minutes. They talk about his trial, his prison escape, the men he’s killed. Then comes the suppositions on what he’s been doing over the last few months, wondering why he’s back now.

They interviewed random people on the street. Some are happy he’s alive, out cleaning the streets from bad guys. Some are afraid.

His phone rings, taking his mind out of his thoughts. He pulls it out, sees Karen’s name on the screen. Probably shouldn’t have called her from his personal phone, but too little too late. He could not pick it up, of course, but he knows her and she’ll just call back until he eventually picks up.

Frank’s a pretty stubborn guy but against Karen, he’s honestly not sure he’d win.

He accepts the call, puts it to his ear, but doesn’t say anything. He just hears Karen’s breathing on the other side.

“Everyone knows you’re alive now,” she finally says and Frank grunts in response. “I saw the police report, you know. You took that police car; could have destroyed the footage.”

Frank keeps silence and Karen does a little exasperated noise. Frank’s gotten quite used to hearing her do that around him.

“Why did you want everyone to know you’re alive?”

“I’m sick of hiding,” he finally answers. “Pretending to be someone I’m not.”

It’s Karen’s turn to be silent and he can almost hear the gears turning in her mind, everything she wants to say but doesn’t. God knows why she doesn’t, woman’s certainly never been afraid of him. Maybe a bit on that first visit with the lawyers at the hospital but even then… Karen’s a woman who’s been through stuff and he’s curious on what it is, but not enough to ask questions. If she wants to share, she will.

“What’s going on, Frank? You killed Carson Wolf,” she sounds accusatory, but also regretful. Not for him, Frank doesn’t think, but for her. That she gave him the necessary information.

“He was involved with my family’s murder,” he replies, thinks he owes her that much at least. Karen shouldn’t feel like an accessory to murder; he was going to find out the truth one way or another, but if she is going to feel like it, then she at least deserves to know why he hunted him down. “You remember Schoonover? How he talked about Kandahar?”

“Yeah,” she says, word exhaled on a sigh. He remembers that night vividly; hitting his car against hers, then taking Schoonover from it and following him around the woods, remembering the little shack he had hidden away, from the family barbeques.

Frank was going to kill Schoonover and Karen had told him he didn’t have to. And then she said that if he did, that he was the monster that everyone said he was, and that he’d be as good as dead to her.

_“I’m already dead,”_ those had been his words. But he hadn’t been, not to her.

“Thank you,” he says and Karen makes a questioning sound. “For believing in me. You were the only one who did, who kept trying to find the truth and who never… Who never forgot my family.”

Karen inhales and Frank can hear she’s teary-eyed.

“You’re welcome, Frank,” she finally says. “I’m glad you came to me for help.”

Frank just grunts in assent. If Karen wanted him out of his life, she’d have no qualms in saying it.

“What happened in Kandahar?” Karen asks and Frank can’t help but to make a little amused sound in response. Of fucking course she wouldn’t let this rest.

“Illegal shit. The type people are now trying to cover up.” He inhales deeply, then slowly exhales. “That’s why they killed my family. To take their secrets to the grave.”

“Jesus,” Karen hisses and Frank turns back to the TVs. They’ve moved on from the Punisher story.

“I’m gonna finish this,” Frank promises. “Kill everyone who had a hand in their deaths.”

Karen doesn’t say anything right away. When she does speak, it’s with steel in her voice. “I know you are.”

He feels the urge again to ask her what she’s seen, what she’s been through. But instead he just says, “take care of yourself, Karen.”

“Yeah, you too, Frank. I mean it. And you better not disappear from my life for months on end again, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Frank says, doesn’t even try not to sound fond. That’s probably not what he should say; he’s certainly not the best person to have in anyone’s life. But Karen makes her own choices, and if she wants him to stay in her life… He feels honored.

“Goodnight, Frank.”

“Goodnight, Karen,” he replies, waits until he hears the click of a disconnected call to put the phone away. Then he goes to clean his guns.

.

Frank has a head wound and a glass stuck on his arm. But he doesn’t go back to the safehouse. David’s been talking to Madani, went behind his back for it, and he doesn’t want to see him right now. And Curtis is still in the hospital from what Wilson did to him, and even if he wasn’t, he doesn’t deserve to get pulled into Frank’s shit.

So he walks, and he ends up by the river, with a bunch of homeless people, starting fires on trashcans. Someone passes him a blanket and he nods in thanks, and they don’t say anything else.

Hell, a rich person with millions to their name wouldn’t stop for him in the street but here someone is, with everyone they own on their body, and still being kind.

He just stands there, thinks of Maria and his kids… Thinks of Billy.

The blood on the head wound has mostly stopped, but Frank knows he has to clean it, probably stitch it up. The arm hurts like a son of a bitch, but honestly, so does most of his body. That’s what happens when you get blown up.

Frank takes out his phone, knows who he wants to call, but wonders if he should. He doesn’t really want to talk about today. Part of him still can’t believe it. He’d known he’d been betrayed by a brother for weeks but Billy… Billy was more than a brother, he was family. And not just to him, but to Maria and the kids.

He didn’t have no one so Frank brought him home and Maria accepted him with open arms.

And he got her killed.

He finally presses the call button.

“You’ve been having some busy days,” Red says after picking up, sounding just slightest accusatory.

“Red,” Frank says, the word dragging on his tongue and then stops.

“Frank? What happened?”

Frank opens his mouth but can’t answer. He almost disconnects but even if all he gets is Red’s breathing on his ear, it’s still better than being alone with his thoughts.

“Are you hurt?” Red asks and Frank grunts.

“Got grazed by a bullet to the head. I’m a lucky son of a bitch, didn’t you know that?” Frank says and all he sounds is bitter.

Red doesn’t say anything right away, and when he finally speaks, it’s an address.

“What?” Frank asks, genuinely confused.

“It’s my place. There’s a door on the roof; direct access.”

Frank doesn’t reply right away, now he’s the one having to think about his words before saying them.

“You sure about that, Red?” He finally asks.

“Yeah. I’m sure, Frank,” Red says and then he disconnects. Frank keeps the phone to his ear for a couple more seconds, but he finally puts it on his pocket.

Then he drags himself away from the fire, returns the blanket to the woman who’d given it to him, along with all the money in his pocket, though it ain’t much.

There’s no way in hell he’s getting a taxi in his condition.

So he walks, every step sending a jolt of pain through his whole body, his breathing coming in fast and short.

He should call David, but instead he just keeps walking deeper into Hell’s Kitchen.

Red’s building is made of brick, looks a bit rundown. It takes Frank at least double the time it should to get to the roof.

The door’s unlocked; breach of safety, that is. But Frank doesn’t focus on that, instead just opens the door, slowly goes down the stairs and who the fuck has such fancy stairs leading to the roof?

“Frank,” Red’s voice sounds from the bottom and no lights are turned on, but there’s a giant billboard outside sending light in and Frank can see his face.

“I thought it was you,” he says, trying to sound as normal as possible. It’s not everyday you find out your lawyer dresses up as a vigilante to fight crime, after all.

“Yeah,” Red – Murdock, Frank can probably finally start thinking about him with his own name – says, nothing else. He just stands there as Frank painstaking makes his way down the stairs, finally stopping two steps before Murdock.

Murdock has his face turned to him, but his eyes are unfocused. Frank almost raises a hand to wave it in front of them but that would be rude as fuck so he doesn’t.

“Come on, let’s get that wound cleaned,” Murdock says and turns around, starts walking to a closed door. Opens it and it’s the bathroom.

“Switch is to the left,” Murdock says and Frank turns it on, sees him passing a hand through the cabinet until he finds the handle, then opens it and takes out an emergency kit.

“Sit,” Murdock says, pointing with his head to the toilet and Frank does it, lowering the lid first.

Frank almost asks if he knows what he’s doing but there’s really no point in it. Yeah, the blind thing always made him confused; how can someone fight as Murdock fights without seeing? But he knows about his senses and guy like him… He must get hurt a lot too.

The alcohol makes him hiss, but Murdock just grabs onto his neck more tightly, making sure there’s no place for him to go.

“I guess I should see the other guy, uh,” Murdock says, clearly trying to lighten the mood. Frank doesn’t say anything but his body must – breathing, or heartrate –, because Murdock stops. He squeezes Frank’s neck, but Frank still keeps quiet, so he goes back to cleaning.

“It needs stitches,” he says and Frank grunts. “I can do it.”

“Yeah?” Frank asks, turns his head to him, eyebrow raised.

“I’ve had practice,” Murdock says and why the hell is Frank finding this surprising? He’s seen this guy flipping all over the place, like gravity is something for schmucks; why the hell can’t he stitch people up?

“Go right ahead, Red,” he says and Murdock gets to work.

After he’s done, he puts a hand on Frank’s shoulder, touch so light Frank almost doesn’t feel it, and then he slowly lowers it, immediately stopping as he finds the glass.

“Gonna have to cut off your shirt,” he says, actually sounds regretful and Frank can’t help the short bark of laughter at it.

“I don’t think it had any salvation, anyway.” Murdock hums at that and turns back to the emergency kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and starting to cut the shirt off.

He stitches Frank’s arm as well and now that the adrenaline has passed, Frank’s body basically feels like a giant bruise. Only place not hurting is his dick.

“I have painkillers, but they’re not too strong,” Murdock offers, as if he can feel that Frank is in pain and hell, maybe something did give him away. Frank just shakes his head.

“A glass of whiskey would be good,” he says and Murdock raises an eyebrow at him, though his eyes are still to the left of Frank’s face. It’s a bit weird, but Frank is glad he doesn’t have the glasses he remembers from the courthouse. He likes Murdock’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t drink after blood loss,” Murdock says. Frank raises a hand, grabs one of his and squeezes.

“Believe me, after the day I’ve had, I deserve it,” his words sound light, but his voice is still raw.

Murdock finally nods and Frank lets go, watches Murdock put everything away, then leave the bathroom. After a few seconds, Frank follows him.

Most of the apartment is just one big space, and pretty empty besides necessities. There’s a bookshelf and Frank goes to it, but everything is in braille. He still passes a finger through the books’ spines, can kind of feel the difference in the dots if he pays attention to them, but has absolutely no idea what the hell they mean.

“Were your born blind?” He asks, turning and walking towards the kitchen space.

Murdock doesn’t stop from where he’s pouring whiskey – expensive brand – into two glasses. “No. It was an accident, when I was nine. Pushed a man out of the way of a truck; it didn’t hit me but the chemicals inside did.”

“Shit,” Frank says, accepts the drink and mutters, “thanks.” He takes a sip before speaking again, “that how you do what you do?”

“If you’re asking if it were the chemicals who gave me augmented senses, then yes.”

“Can’t have been easy, for a kid,” Frank says. Hell, it wouldn’t be easy for an adult, but a kid? Then again, no one bounces back quite like they do.

“After the first couple of weeks it wasn’t that bad. I had my dad; he was my focus, you know? If things got too loud, I just paid attention to him.”

“Did he know?”

“He knew what I knew. At the time, we didn’t quite realize just how much more I could hear, smell… Feel.”

Frank takes another sip, wonders what are the chances he’ll get a second glass.

“Then he died,” Murdock continues and Frank turns to look attentively at his face. He’s turned to the wall. “And everything got… Louder.” A pause, and Frank just waits it out, heartrate steady. “I was sent to St. Agnes, an orphanage run by nuns. They called a… specialist. Blind, like me. He’s the one who trained me.”

“Shit, as a kid?” Frank asks, can’t help it. He’s glad Murdock found a way to not lose his mind, but child soldiers… That’s not okay.

Murdock laughs, but it’s not amused.

“Yeah, he was… There are things beyond what we can see, you know, Frank?”

Frank makes a humming sound, though he doesn’t really know what the hell Murdock is talking about.

“Stick was part of an organization, the Chaste. They fought the Hand, who were after immortality.”

Frank doesn’t say anything to that, just raises his eyebrows. Then again, is this really the craziest thing he’s ever heard? A few years ago, a portal opened up in the sky and aliens came from it. People seeking immortality… Yeah, maybe it really isn’t that insane.

“Were you part of the Chaste?” He finally asks and Murdock does that laughter-non-laughter again.

“No, I never got that far in my training,” he pauses. “Stick left after a few months. He was looking for a soldier and I was looking for a dad.”

He sounds hurt and Frank has to stop himself from squeezing the glass in his hand too hard, wants to ask him just where he can find this Stick guy, give him a piece of his mind.

“I kept training, even without him,” Murdock says and he must be able to hear how unhappy Frank is with his story, but he doesn’t pay it attention. And Frank forces himself to relax; Murdock isn’t some powerless victim. If he wanted to go after Stick, he would.

“Always planned on dressing up in a costume and beating up people at night?” Frank asks and this time, he gets his voice to sound just the slightest bit lighter. Murdock laughs and finally, it sounds real.

“No. But… It helped keep me focused.”

Murdock takes a sip of his drink and Frank can feel that line of conversation is done with. It’s probably his turn to open up, right?

“That night, the first time you showed up smelling more of guns than usual… You smelled of Karen’s perfume. You smell it tonight too,” Murdock says and there’s something in his tone, but Frank can’t tell what. Jealousy, anger?

“Yeah. That woman… She’s a magnet for trouble,” he says, doesn’t even try not to sound fond.

“Is she okay?” Murdock asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Frank nods, then realizes that’s a dumb move and answers verbally.

“Yeah, she’s fine. Well, bruised up and I’m guessing she’s about to spend some nights having nightmares but she’s a resilient one.”

“Yeah,” Murdock says and he sounds fond. Frank’s stomach does a twist at that but he refuses to pay attention to it.

They’re quiet again. Frank throws back the rest of the whiskey and grabs the bottle. Murdock does it too and neither lets go.

“It was Billy,” Frank says and in Murdock’s confusion, his grip slackens and Frank gets the bottle. He fills up the glass, more than Murdock had. “He’s the one who sold me and my family out.”

Murdock’s breathing goes fast, makes the sound of a hiss. Frank takes a healthy sip from his glass.

“We served together for eight years,” he puts down the glass, is pretty sure that otherwise he’s going to end up throwing it at a wall and that’s not something Murdock deserves. “He grew up in the system, didn’t have no one. Walls always up, you know? Sure, he’d shoot the shit with us, and he’d laugh, but he never shared personal stories, kept us all at arms’ length.”

Frank isn’t looking at Murdock anymore, instead down at the table. He’s moved the bottle from where it was, and it’s left a circle of condensation. He puts a finger on it, starts making shapes with it.

“Maria always called me a soft heart. Only reason our house wasn’t full of abandoned dogs was because she said she wasn’t taking care of them, plus two kids, when I was away. That was the plan when I retired, you know? Just fill the house with dogs,” Frank says and stops. Before he can continue, he has to clear his throat. “Anyway, Billy didn’t have no one, so I invited him over to our house. He came for meals, he went to Frankie’s games. Hell, even read Lisa a bedtime story once or twice.”

Murdock puts a hand on top of Frank’s on the table, though not with any strength, Frank can still move it around. But he doesn’t, instead just lies it flat. Murdock keeps his hand on top and Frank forces himself to focus on that, how he has long fingers, that clearly speak of physical tasks. Frank wonders if anyone ever thinks Murdock is more than the lawyer he presents as.

“He betrayed them,” Frank says and his voice cracks. His breathing is coming in short, and he can feel tears in his eyes but he refuses to let them drop, not for Billy. All Billy is getting from him is a bullet to the head.

“Do you know why?” Murdock asks, in a low and soft tone.

“Why does anyone do anything? Money. Power.”

Murdock doesn’t say anything to that and Frank turns his hand so that their palms are touching. He can feel Murdock’s pulse and focuses on that. Strong, possibly a bit faster than Frank’s, but still slower than most people’s.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” Murdock says and Frank squeezes his wrist once. He’s done talking.

“I’m tired, Red.”

“Come on,” Murdock says and it’s his time to squeeze Frank’s hand. Then he lets go, goes around the counter and puts a hand on Frank’s shoulder, guiding him towards the sliding door.

It’s a bedroom; Murdock’s bedroom. Like the rest of the place, it’s pretty empty of personal knick-knacks.

“Lie down,” Murdock instructs, but Frank shakes his head.

“I’m not taking your bed.”

“Just get some rest,” Murdock says and Frank turns to him, looks closely at him. For someone with so many secrets, Murdock has a pretty open face.

Suddenly, Frank thinks of that moment with Karen in the elevator, touching her forehead. The calm in the midst of the storm. That’s how being with Murdock feels like.

He finally sits down, pulls his boots off. God, he must smell disgusting.

“Maybe I should take a shower first,” he says and Murdock doesn’t say anything right away.

“Okay,” he finally says. “I’m going to leave a towel on the counter,” he continues, turns around to leave the bedroom. Frank sits there for a few more moments before getting back up and following him. He takes the boots with him, goes to drop them by the front door. Hopefully there they won’t make the whole apartment reek.

Frank takes a pretty fast shower, almost too hot, but it feels good on his muscles. He cleans himself quickly, uses Murdock’s shampoo and soap gel, both claiming to be fragrance free.

He dries himself but then just stares at his dirty clothes on the floor. What’s the point of taking a shower to not smell bad to then put on smelly clothes back on?

After he’s made sure his hair is dry and isn’t going to be dripping, Frank wraps the towel around his waist. He opens the door and Murdock is on the sofa, reading a book with his fingers.

“Hey, Red,” Frank calls for his attention, in a low tone. Half because it doesn’t need to be any louder for him to hear, but mostly because he feels peaceful, doesn’t want even his own voice ruining that.

“Oh, clean clothes, of course,” Murdock says and gets up, leaving the book face down on the sofa. He goes inside his bedroom and Frank follows him. Murdock opens a drawer and takes out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, holds them out and Frank takes them. They feel softer, nicer than most stuff Frank wears.

Right, Murdock’s augmented senses go for feeling as well. Must be a pain in the ass.

He puts the towel on the bed and gets dressed, any sense of shame he ever had about being naked around people having long been beaten out by the Army.

“Right, I’ll leave you to it,” Murdock says and goes to leave, but Frank grabs a hold of his arm, just below his elbow. Murdock turns to him, eyes turned somewhere around Frank’s nose.

Frank stays like that for a few moments, wonders what Murdock can feel from his hand. What he can hear from his body. Does he hear bones moving, blood rushing?

“Stay,” he finally says and Murdock doesn’t do anything for a while. Finally, he nods. Frank lets go and Murdock moves to grab the towel.

“I’ll be right back,” he says and Frank nods, though he can feel his heartrate going faster just for a couple seconds.

Frank pulls the covers back; the apartment doesn’t have heating and it’s a cold Spring night. He gets in and sheets are the softest thing he’s ever felt against his skin.

Murdock comes back, pauses on the doorway just for a second, then keeps moving, starts undressing. Frank doesn’t look, lets him have his privacy.

Murdock dresses in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt like Frank and then he gets inside the bed.

“Thanks,” Frank says, laying on his back, Murdock doing the same, though he feels him turning his head to him. More of a habit than anything else, right? Frank doubts it helps him listening better.

“For what?”

“Trusting me with your secret. And telling me where you live.”

Murdock doesn’t say anything, just moves so that he has a hand on top of one of Frank’s, who moves it so he can hold on.

“You’re welcome, Frank,” Murdock says and that’s the last they say.

.

Frank wakes up just after the sun has gone up, used to not sleeping for many hours anymore. The bed is already empty, but he can Murdock moving around.

He stays lying there for a while, hands on his chest. He needs to go back to the safehouse, get his guns. And yeah, he kind of wants to say he’s done with David to his face.

“I made eggs,” Murdock says, sliding the door open and of course he could hear Frank was awake. He’s dressed in a white shirt and some nice dark trousers.

“You got court today?”

“Yeah, but only at 10am. Still, I should review the case.”

Frank nods, finally sits ups, feels just a bit dizzy at the sudden movement. Murdock gives a step forward, as if wanting to support Frank, but doesn’t come any closer and Frank is free to move the rest of the way at his own pace.

Once he’s finally up, Murdock turns his back and goes back to the kitchen. Frank follows him, the wooden floor a cool touch on his feet.

They start eating in silence though Frank is quick to break it to say, “eggs are good. Thanks.”

“They’re my specialty,” Murdock says and smiles, a real content one. When’s the last time anyone’s smiled just because around Frank?

They finish in silence, but they keep sitting at the table.

“What are you going to do next?” Murdock asks, in a serious tone, and Frank stares him in the eyes as he answers.

“You know what I’m doing next. Russo, Rawlins… I’m going to kill them. And everyone who gets in my way.”

Murdock doesn’t say anything, finally just nods. “I can’t help you, Frank.”

“I know,” Frank immediately says, and he does. “I wouldn’t ask it of you.”

Murdock nods but Frank feels like he still wants to say something, so he just waits it out in silence. “Once everything is done… You should come back. Here.”

Frank blinks. That wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’m everything you stand against.”

“No, you’re not. What I stand against is… Crime. Pain and misery so a few can get richer. You’re not that, Frank. You’ve never been.”

Frank doesn’t reply; doesn’t know what to say.

He almost asks _what the hell are we doing here?_ but isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. Hell, Murdock is probably as lost as he is.

But he’s still here. And actually asking Frank to come back.

It’s been a very long time since anyone did that.

“I don’t know if there’s more to me than this, Red. Not anymore.”

Murdock doesn’t say anything, tilts his head, and just the gesture makes Frank’s heartrate go up, knowing that he’s listening to it. What is he trying to figure out from it? For the first time, Frank is kind of jealous about it; Murdock gets to know something about himself that he doesn’t about him.

So Frank gets up, walks closer to Murdock, who’s turning his head to follow his movements, and bends slightly down, putting a hand on his neck, just underneath his ear, applies just a bit of pressure so he can feel Murdock’s pulse against his thumb. It does a slight jump, then calms down.

“Fair’s fair,” Frank says and Murdock smiles.

They stay like that for several long moments and then Frank bends even further, so that he can touch their foreheads.

“I can’t make any promises, Red.”

“Matt,” Murdock says and his voice sounds rawer than usual. “You should call me Matt.”

Frank smiles, tries the word on his lips once before saying it out loud. “Matt.”

Murdock – Matt – is quiet for another few moments and then he says, “I’m not asking you for promises. But if you want… You’re welcome to come back.”

Frank should say no. Frank should say he deserves better than this, though what the hell this is he has no idea.

But he’s also not dumb enough to throw away the good things that somehow find their way to his lap. And this, Matt Murdock, wanting him in his life, is a good thing.

“Okay,” Frank finally says and lets go, no seconds thought about it. Then he moves away, walks to the front door, puts his boots on in silence, opens the door, and then he walks out of the apartment.


	2. I could wait with you for the winter to come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who kudoed, bookmarked and commented on the first chapter.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this :)

Frank gets out of the hospital after the big showdown at the carousel not in handcuffs or in a body bag, but with a new identity. It sure isn’t the way he thought things would end, but he’s not complaining. He knows that someone like Karen wouldn’t be happy – the truth is still being pushed under the rug – but Frank was after his family’s murderers, not the truth.

He can’t say he’s happy with how things ended up – the pain from Billy’s betrayal won’t be leaving anytime soon – but it’s not as bad as it could be.

Frank doesn’t go back to Matt’s, though. He knows he’d be welcome, but he wants some space to deal with his stuff first. While he spent three days on a hospital bed with nothing but his thoughts for company, he’d realized that he’d been pretty much using Matt as a crutch the last few weeks, going to him whenever he felt like shit, and that’s not something he wants to do anymore. Not the way he wants things to evolve between them.

If he wants them to evolve. He still isn’t sure what the hell is going on with him and Matt, but he knows it could be something good, if he allows himself to have it. So he’s gotta get himself together. Or stay the hell away.

Since he hasn’t figured out just which way he’s heading at, he stays away.

Instead, Frank goes to Curtis’ after getting out of the hospital. He hadn’t been planning to, but Curtis had called him and told him he expected him at his place at seven pm, and he better bring some good beer and then, because he knew Frank better than pretty much anyone else, had hanged up without waiting for a reply.

So, Frank does as told. He gets Curtis’ favorite brand of beer, and some burgers and fries as well, since it isn’t like Curtis should be cooking a few days after getting shot in the arm, and Frank isn’t much feeling like it either.

He rings the doorbell once, waits for a few seconds until Curtis opens it, arm on a sling across his chest.

“I was thinking you might ditch me,” Curtis says, and in that tone of his, where Frank genuinely doesn’t know if he’s joking or not. Probably a bit of both.

Frank just grunts, pushes the pack of beer against his chest – man’s got a good arm, doesn’t he? Curtis takes them and then turns around to put them in the counter, moving to go get a bottle opener. Frank walks inside and closes the door behind him.

“Brought some burgers too,” he says, raising the bag on his hand.

“I knew we were friends for a reason,” Curtis replies and Frank snorts. He almost says something self-depreciating – _“I don’t think burgers make up for getting you shot”_ – but this is Curtis. He is immune to Frank’s bullshit and will just stare him down.

Frank came because Curtis knows him and Frank respects him enough to make his own decisions, namely, whether he wants to keep Frank in his life or not. And he’s damn thankful for it, knows that he wouldn’t have made it after prison, after Schoonover, if he hadn’t gone to Curtis.

“How’ve you been, man?” Curtis asks, passing a beer bottle to Frank, after he’s uncapped two of them. Frank doesn’t bother asking him about the pain killers; Curtis isn’t someone to play around with those things. He knows his limits.

Frank takes a sip before answering. “Been doing some… reflection, I guess.”

“Yeah?” Curtis asks, looks serious and interested and Frank feels kind of bad about using him as a pseudo-psychiatrist. That’s something he has to be better at, he knows.

“Gotta decide what to do with my life, right?” Is what Frank decides to say and Curtis studies him for a few seconds before replying.

“Maybe you can just decide one day at a time, yeah?” Frank rolls his eyes at that, but Curtis just continues. “I mean it, Frank. You’ve always been the man with a plan, so how about just taking some time and going step by step? Don’t gotta decide everything at once.”

That’s actually not the worst advice he’s ever heard. Curtis always has been a smart one.

“And you? How are you?” Frank asks and Curtis shrugs. Frank studies his face, but he doesn’t show any discomfort from the movement.

“I’m good. Stitches will be out in a few days. Dunno if my guys trust me anymore; one day I show up with a face full of bruises, a few days later I get shot…”

“Fuck that. Just shows you’re a fucking badass,” Frank says and Curtis sends him a look, like he doesn’t feel like that much of a badass. “Hey. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Curtis shakes his head and Frank leans over the counter so that he can squeeze his arm.

“I mean it, brother. Your support… It’s meant a lot.”

Curtis studies him for a few more seconds before he nods. “You’re welcome.”

Frank nods back, lets go. Curtis starts taking out plates and Frank takes the food out of the bag. They each make their own plate, then go sit at the table.

They make easy conversation. Curtis tells him about the guys who called to check on him, about the nice nurse who he got the number before leaving the hospital, and Frank tells him about getting brand new papers, not being a wanted man anymore.

It’s as they’re finishing their food, that Curtis brings up Billy.

“It was fucked up, what he did.”

“Yeah,” Frank says, the betrayal feeling just as raw as it did on that staircase, after Billy shot at him. “My kids called him uncle,” he says, feeling disgusted. At Billy for the charade, for the betrayal, for the… Everything, really. But also at himself, for not seeing it earlier.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Curtis says and Frank knows he means it, knows he believes it. But he can’t believe it.

He doesn’t say anything. This isn’t something he sees himself budging on. He brought Billy to their lives, he went along with the mission in Afghanistan, punched Rawlins in the face.

“I feel like I’m at a crossroads, you know?” Frank starts, looking somewhere to Curtis’ right, choosing not to look him in the eyes. “Either I keep going down this path or I try and… Move on,” his words don’t taste right in his mouth. _Move on_ is for… a bad breakup. Not the death of his wife and kids.

“Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting them,” Curtis says, like he read his mind. Frank grunts but doesn’t say anything. “I think you should come to the group.”

“Come on, be serious,” Frank says and Curtis waves a hand at him.

“I’m serious, man. I think it’d do you good, be around people who’ve been through similar stuff.”

“I might have a new name, but my face hasn’t changed and it’s been plastered all over the news for weeks.”

“It’s a brotherhood. Ain’t no one gonna snitch on you. And anyway, you said you got new papers, right? Frank Castle’s been wiped off the records?”

Frank grunts in assent, but doesn’t say anything else.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. Just think about it, okay?” Frank grunts again. “And you’re welcome to my couch for as long as you want it.”

“Nah, come on, Curtis, I can’t-”

“You can and you will,” Curtis says, seriously, and Frank looks him in the eyes as he continues. “I think you shouldn’t be alone right now. And look, we don’t have to talk about anything, but it’s important you know you have a support system, alright?”

“Alright,” Frank says. “But you have to do the same, yeah?”

“Come on, man. I’m fine-”

“I haven’t forgotten what you said when you had that bomb taped to your chest,” Curtis kind of glares at him for that, though it’s not his famous _cut the shit_ glare, more a mild version of it. Where he knows Frank isn’t talking complete bullshit, but since it’s about himself, he’s not that willing to entertain it. “You don’t gotta talk about it, but same goes to you, yeah? I’m here for you.”

Curtis doesn’t say anything right away. Then he nods. “Yeah, I know.”

Frank nods back. Then he gets up and goes to get them more beers. He’s quite done with all this feelings shit.

.

It’s over a week later when Frank’s phone rings. He’s reading _Pride and Prejudice_ on Curtis’ sofa – he was right; it helped to be around someone, even if they spent a lot of time not talking about anything serious –, almost doesn’t pick it up, but it’s not like many people have his number, is it?

He finally grabs it from the coffee table. Sarah’s name is on the screen and he stares at it for a few seconds. He’s not surprised that if either of the Lieberman’s would call again, it would be her.

He thought he’d get a clean break from them, but things are never that simple. And what if something really is wrong? Frank’s pretty sure everyone involved with Rawlins is out of the picture, but what if he’s wrong? Or, hell, he wouldn’t put it past David to get in trouble barely a week after getting his name cleared.

So he accepts the call and puts the phone to his ear, though he doesn’t say anything.

“Pete?” Sarah’s voice questions, and at least she doesn’t sound scared or angry. Then she laughs, “or do you prefer Frank?”

“Whatever works for you, ma’am. New papers say Pete.”

She makes a sound in agreement, “I like Pete. But Frank’s a good name too.”

He doesn’t say anything. She definitely didn’t call just to talk about his name, but he’s not sure he wants to rush their conversation either. He’s pretty sure it won’t bring anything good to his doorstep.

“The kids miss you,” Sarah finally says and Frank can’t help but to squeeze the phone harder. “And I know this is unfair of me to say. I can’t even imagine how hard it must be for you to be around them.”

Frank keeps silent for another few seconds and Sarah just waits him out. Finally, he sighs, “yeah.”

“So if you don’t want to come around anymore because it’s too hard, I understand. But if you’re doing it for us, or for them… They care for you.”

Frank doesn’t reply right away. Then, “I care for them too. They’re good kids.”

“Yeah,” she laughs, and he realizes this is the most carefree he’s ever heard her. Good for them; the Lieberman’s deserve that. “They are.”

Finally, he makes a decision. “Sunday dinner… I can’t do that, but I can come around after school one of these days?”

“That would be really great, Pete,” Sarah says and he can hear the smile on her face. “Tomorrow?”

He huffs a laugh at that, “afraid I’ll cancel if you give me more time?”

“Yeah,” Sarah answers, unashamedly, and Frank remembers that nightmare, where his family and her family were having dinner and then they all got murdered. But before that, it wasn’t a bad dream. Maria and Sarah would have gotten along like a house on fire, he’s sure.

“Alright. I’ll be there,” he promises and feels something squeezing in his stomach, but it’s not regret.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Pete,” Sarah says.

“See you tomorrow,” he replies and then she disconnects. Frank lowers the phone, exhales as he stares at it, then puts it away. He’s made his choice and yeah, it fucking hurts, but those kids didn’t do anything for him to just ignore them now. He can deal with the pain.

.

The next day, not too long after he knows Leo and Zach are home, Frank rings the Lieberman’s doorbell.

He hears yelling from the inside, but can’t tell if it’s someone saying they’re opening the door, or someone else asking someone to open it.

Eventually, it does open, Leo’s smiling face on the other side.

“Pete!” She says and hugs him. Frank’s been hearing that name for months and it still doesn’t feel natural but it’s probably a good habit to get into, certainly with this family, who he doesn’t want to ever slip.

Frank doesn’t get a chance to put his arms around her before Leo has already let go, still smiling broadly at him. “Have you grown since I last saw you?”

“No,” she says, rolling her eyes, but he can tell she’s happy with the question.

He enters the house, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” Zach’s voice sounds from the kitchen doorway, waving, but keeping his distance. Frank waves back.

“Hey,” he replies. This is the first time they’ve seen each other since Zach found out the truth about who he is, after all.

“What do you want to do?” Leo asks, calling Frank’s attention back to him. He shrugs.

“Whatever you wanna do is fine with me.”

“She’s going to choose something boring,” Zach says, slowly walking inside the living room and Leo turns to him to respond. Frank can’t see her face but she must be making some type of face, he just knows it.

“No, I’m not.”

Zach doesn’t say anything to that, just turns to Frank, who stares back, lets him get his fill. He’s got no idea what the kid is looking for but there isn’t really much to do except stand there and wait it out.

“Can you teach us to play poker?” Leo asks, turning back to Frank, who can’t help but to raise both eyebrows in surprise. He can see Zach’s interested face at that and wonders for whose benefit Leo is asking. She sure is a smart cookie.

“What do your parents think about that?” He asks and this time, it’s Sarah who answers, stepping out of the kitchen.

“As long as you don’t teach them to cheat or to count cards, it’s fine,” she smiles and walks towards him. He just waits until she reaches him, accepts her hug gladly, hugging her back. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers against his ear and he nods in response.

After she’s let go, Leo grabs his hand, pulls him towards the sofas, and then continues to pull on his arm until he’s sitting on the floor. Zach joins them, sitting across from him, coffee table between them, with Leo in the middle of them. She takes a box on top of it and opens it, taking out a pack of cards from it.

“We need chips, or something,” Frank says, taking the pack and starting to shuffle them. He notices Zach staring at his hands so makes sure to add a couple cool tricks he’s learnt from the Army.

“Oh, I think there’s something in the basement. I’ll be right back,” Sarah says and leaves.

It’s silent after that. Frank knows the kids have questions, but they seem a bit shy on asking them though honestly, he guesses that has more to do with Sarah or David – or both – telling them not to than them being afraid or something.

“Did you really help our dad get back home?” Zach finally asks and Frank nods.

“Yeah,” he could say more, something about their dad being a smart man, but not exactly the best when it comes to action, but that’s not something he wants in their minds. He knows they’ve seen the news, that they know he’s killed a lot of people, but that’s not something they need or should talk about.

“Thanks,” Leo says and Frank turns to her, and she has a shy smile on his face. He nods.

“It was my pleasure, sweetheart.” Yeah, he’s also not telling them that their dad was a right pain in his ass in the beginning and that they did not get off to the best start.

“Is that why you started coming around? To check on us for him?” Zach asks and Frank turns back to him.

“Yeah. He never stopped thinking about you guys,” he answers. No way is he saying they were leverage, even if he would never have hurt them.

“He still left,” Zach says and he sounds like he’s trying to pretend to be angrier than he actually is. Trying to hide that what he’s really feeling is fear.

“Hey,” Frank says and waits until Zach is looking him in the eyes to speak. “He didn’t want to leave you guys. It was the hardest thing he ever had to do and you have no idea how often I had to stop him from coming back. But it wasn’t safe for you guys. And that’s all he wanted; for you to be safe.”

Now they’re both staring at him and he’s pretty sure they’re all thinking of the same thing: that he wasn’t capable of keeping his own family safe.

Luckily, before the conversation can derail even more, Sarah comes back.

“They’re old, but in good shape. David’s always picking up new stuff and giving up just as easily,” Sarah says, putting the box on the coffee table, and rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, he tried to learn to play the guitar this year. I think he learnt a few chords,” Frank says and Sarah pauses just slightly as she stands back up. Frank’s afraid he’s made a mistake by talking about the time David wasn’t with them, but then she laughs.

“At least it wasn’t the drums.”

“Can I learn to play the drums?” Zach immediately asks and it’s Frank’s turn to laugh.

“We’ll see,” Sarah answers and since it’s not an outright no, Zach decides to drop it. Frank is sure they’ll soon realize David is the one to ask for something; like hell is that man saying no to anything his kids ask.

“I’m going to do some work,” Sarah says and leaves them to it.

“Right. There are a lot of poker games, but I’m gonna teach you the first one I learnt in basic: Texas Hold’em,” Frank starts, both kids paying close attention to him. The ball in his stomach doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.

.

“Hey, man,” David’s voice brings everyone to attention. It’s been at least an hour since they started playing.

“If you’re ever in debt, just take Leo to Vegas,” Frank says and Leo looks happy at the compliment.

“Hey, what about me?” Zach asks, but he’s smiling.

Frank stares at him for a couple seconds before shrugging, “you’re more likely to lose more money than you first went in with.”

Leo laughs at that while Zach crosses his arms. Then he says, “you have to come back, then. Until I’m better.” He says the words in a confident manner, but it’s also clear he’s afraid Frank will say no. So Frank smiles in response.

“That sounds good,” he says and now Zach is smiling too.

“Come on. Let me get you guys some food,” David says and they all get up, Frank’s knees making cracking sounds, because of course they do. Both Leo and Zach laugh at it.

Leo tells Frank about school that day as David starts making sandwiches. Zach doesn’t look so happy with the topic, but he doesn’t look that bad either. As David engages with Leo, Frank comes closer to Zach.

“How’s school?” He asks and Zach shrugs.

“It’s not that bad. I still don’t have any friends but no one’s coming after me anymore. Dad’s back but no one knows how or why so there’s like… Crazy stories around. That he went into witness protection, that he helped the Avengers with a secret mission…”

Frank laughs, sees David turn to him at that, but going back to his conversation with Leo quickly enough.

“That’d be pretty cool, uh?”

“Yeah,” Zach says and studies Frank again for a few seconds before saying, “but you’re pretty cool too.”

“Thanks,” Frank says and while he puts a sarcastic tilt to it, he means it.

“Hey, is there some for me?” Sarah asks and goes to kiss David. The kids make a disgusted sound at it and Frank laughs; some things never change. And yeah, his stomach jolts at the sight, at the domesticity of it, but he doesn’t really feel jealousy. He’s seen every one of this little quartet at some very low points in their lives. He’s happy they get some high ones too.

They all eat standing and then David asks Leo and Zach if they want to play some basketball. He asks Frank to join them, but he decides to stay behind.

He and Sarah sit on the steps of the kitchen door, watching the three of them playing around. David actually isn’t as bad as Frank expected.

“This would usually be the moment I asked if you wanted a drink,” Sarah says and she’s smiling, but she’s also moving her clasped fingers in a nervous manner.

Frank makes a questioning sound, even though he’s pretty sure he knows what she’s trying to say. Still, he understands why she’s bringing it up with him. She’s certainly not going to talk to the kids about it and David… He’s already feeling enough guilt.

“I keep wanting a glass before bed. Just to… Relax.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Frank immediately says and means it. Yeah, he’s seen her a bit drunk, but not around her kids. And she was having a hard time; he certainly wouldn’t begrudge her a couple glasses of wine.

“But I don’t have a reason anymore, do I? David is… David is back,” she says and there’s wonder in her tone. Happiness too, but also confusion. And fear. But not like Zach’s, where he thought their father might one day disappear again. No, this is a different type of fear, the adult kind, where she doesn’t trust that everything good they have won’t be taken back just as easily.

“Just because he’s back doesn’t mean the past year didn’t happen,” Frank says and Sarah sends him a look, like that’s exactly what she’s been thinking.

“David keeps talking about an adjustment period. I guess I… Wish we didn’t need that. That everything could just go back to normal.”

“Like him putting gas on your car Sunday nights?”

“He went to do that a couple days ago. But I’d already filled it up. I didn’t mean to hurt him or anything, it was just… automatic.”

Frank nods, then he turns back to the game in front of them, Leo and Zach against David.

“Me and Maria had that; an adjustment period. She got used to doing things without me and then there I was. There were the easy things; she did not mind me being the one to take out the trash. But there were the big things, like the kids never coming to me first with a problem.”

Sarah moves a hand to his arm, squeezes it.

“I know it’s not the same,” he says, turns to her and Sarah gives him a small smile, soft around the edges, sad too.

“Thank you for talking about your family with me,” she says and Frank nods, feels something squeezing his throat.

They’re silent after that, Sarah’s hand still on his arm and it’s not a bad weight. Frank’s glad she called him, and that he accepted her offer. The Lieberman’s are good people and if they want to keep him in their lives… Frank isn’t going to take that for granted.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he starts, not looking at her. “About seeing couples holding hands and wondering “is that ever going to be me again?””

Sarah doesn’t say anything right away and Frank doesn’t either. Finally, “you met someone?”

“Yeah,” he says. “His name’s Matt.” Sarah squeezes his arm and Frank can see her look of surprise from the corner of his eye. But she doesn’t say anything and he continues, “I’ve actually known him for a while. But we’ve gotten closer in the past few weeks.”

Sarah makes a humming sound. “What’s keeping you back?”

And isn’t that the million-dollar question?

“I don’t think I could handle falling in love and losing them again,” he finally says, having to push the words out.

“Oh, Pete,” Sarah says and leans so that the side of her head is resting on Frank’s shoulder. Frank moves a hand up, to the one she still has on his arm, and squeezes it.

They stay like that for a few seconds, the sounds of Leo’s, Zach’s and David’s laughter the only sound around them.

Finally, Sarah exhales loudly and straightens out, though she leaves her hand where it is, and Frank decides to keep his there as well.

“I think, in the end, the question is that one we usually ask about most things: what are you going to regret more? Taking the leap, or not doing it?”

Frank nods, but doesn’t say anything. Yeah, that hits it right on the head, doesn’t it?

“I’m glad we met you, Pete,” Sarah says and she sounds honest. Frank nods again.

“Yeah, me too.”

They watch the rest of the game in silence, still holding hands.

.

Frank invites Karen for lunch the next day. The first thing out of her mouth once they’re sitting down at the Indian place closest to her work and have ordered food is, “wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you anytime soon.”

Frank shrugs, “got things taken care of.”

“Yeah? Frank Castle isn’t the most wanted name anymore. Instead it’s all about Lewis Wilson and Billy Russo.”

Frank shrugs again. He knows what Karen wants him to say, but he also knows that she’s like a dog with a bone when it comes to a story. There is no way in hell she’ll be convinced to let sleeping dogs lie if she knows the degree to which the CIA and Homeland are keeping its secrets.

“Come on, Frank. Tell me something,” she says, eyes staring deep into his.

“It’s done, Karen.”

“The people deserve to know.”

“I got clean papers to keep my mouth shut.”

“You could be an anonymous source,” Karen says but Frank can tell she’s just going through the motions.

“You know better than that. They’d know it was me and even if they didn’t… Your article would never be published, they’d make sure of that.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? That our government is willing to kill people to keep their dirty little secrets?”

Frank sighs, passes a hand through his face. “What do you want me to tell you, Karen?”

“I want the truth, Frank,” she says and this time it doesn’t look like she’ll be letting go anytime soon.

“The men who took my family away are all dead, or close enough. Printing the story… It ain’t gonna change what happened.”

“It could stop it from happening again. Keep those in power accountable.”

Frank laughs, just the slightest bit bitterly. “Never took you for naïve, Karen.”

Karen clenches her jaw and he knows that was a cheap shot. Karen sees the world as it is, but she also has an optimistic streak in her, that they can make the world better than it is. It’s a good trait for a reporter.

Still, she doesn’t say anything right away and Frank keeps quiet as well. He’s not budging on this. Even if Madani didn’t go after Karen, there is no way in hell the CIA would let that story go public. He’s a bit surprised they gave him a deal instead of trying to kill him, honestly, but maybe with the amount of highly trained bodies he’s dropped in the past few weeks, they figured their chances weren’t all that high. And maybe they want something to hold against him, when the time comes and they think he’s useful.

He’ll cross that bridge when it comes.

Finally, Karen sighs and Frank keeps a sigh of his own inside, knowing that just this once she’s going to let it go. At least in front of him; he’s going to need to keep an open eye on her.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Frank,” she says and smiles and Frank nods. He doesn’t know if he really is okay, but he’s pretty sure he’s on his way there.

Their food is brought to them and they’re quiet for the first few bites.

“So, what comes next?” She asks, that attentive glint in her eyes.

“Not sure yet. Still figuring out my options,” Frank tells her and she nods. He almost tells her about Matt – though what exactly is there to tell is still unclear – but he figures that will just be awkward, what with the fact that the two of them had something going on. Part of him almost does ask just for that – he certainly doesn’t want to hurt Karen – but he figures that would be an insult to everyone involved; if Karen and Matt wanted to be together, they would be.

“What?” She asks, noticing him looking.

Frank looks down at his plate and moves the food around a couple times before taking a big bite, taking his time chewing and swallowing.

“Been thinking about leaving the vest behind,” he finally says once his mouth is empty. Karen raises both eyebrows in surprise which… Is a bit hurtful, if he’s honest. She was the one talking about an _after_ , after all, and how he didn’t have to have a next war. Then she smiles, all the surprise gone from her face, just real contentment for him.

“That’s really good, Frank,” she says and he knows she means it. And not because she’s against what he does – she ain’t writing puff pieces on the good work he does, but she doesn’t see things as black and white as Matt does either – but because she truly believes that is what is best for Frank.

God, what the hell Frank did to deserve all these people in his life after the most important ones got stolen from him, he has no idea, but he’s sure as hell not unhappy about it.

“Yeah, it’s…” He starts, stops and shrugs before continuing. “It’s time.”

Karen smiles and then he asks about her work and they have a normal conversation for the rest of the meal, free of Frank asking a favor or talking about hurting people. It feels pretty damn good.

.

Frank goes to Curtis’ sharing group. Not every single day, but almost every other day. That first day was the time he talked the most. Mostly he just listens, especially to Curtis.

Remembers what he told him – _every time I’m talking to them, I’m talking to myself_. Curtis catches him at it, realizes what he’s doing – making sure Curtis is good – and nods at him, though he also tells him to cut the crap when it’s just the two of them.

It makes Frank laugh, but also tell him, “I’m here for you, brother.”

“I know,” is Curtis’ response, in that unwavering tone. He was the only one who didn’t think Frank was crazy when he called to tell him he was getting married to Maria – who he hadn’t even met yet. All he’d said had been, “I’m happy for you, brother.”

Weeks pass and Frank stays away from Matt, though he keeps an ear open about Daredevil’s comings and goings. He really has retired the vest, but that doesn’t mean he’s not willing to run in if Matt needs help. Not that the stubborn asshole would ask him, he’s sure.

He starts pulling himself together. He still has nightmares, still thinks of Maria – more than the kids, because it hurts less – and knows that the hallucination he had while Rawlins was beating him up, Maria with her hand extended to him, asking him to come home, to choose death, was nothing more than that: a hallucination.

The Maria he knew would kick his ass if he ever chose death. _“You still have a lot more to live. We’ll meet when it’s time, and not a moment before that,”_ he can pretty much hear her voice inside his head.

So that’s what he does. He spends time with the Lieberman’s – Leo lends him a book pretty much every time he goes over and he’s caught Zach pretending to be worse at poker than he actually is, like they’re both finding excuses for him to come back. It hurts a bit but he realizes where they’re coming from, how they stare for a few seconds too long whenever David leaves the room. So he comes back, makes sure he doesn’t break his word.

He and Karen also meet up for lunch at other times. Mostly they talk about her job, but Frank opens up about his past too. Not just his family, but the Army too. She’s thinking of doing several pieces on vets, call attention to the lack of support they come home to.

And, finally, he decides he’s going to visit Matt.

At first, he decides to take flowers with him. If he’s going to do something, it’s going to be done right. But then he realizes the scents might be too much for Matt. Even if they’re not too strong, it can’t be fun to smell them literally dying.

So, Frank spends some time on google and finds a small shop in Harlem that does flowers out of recycled paper. He sends a message, asks for a bouquet, and makes sure to request they use their paper with the least scent.

On Friday afternoon, he picks that up, then some Italian takeaway and then he actually uses the front door to Matt’s building to get in, catching someone on their way out.

Frank climbs the stairs slowly, though he doesn’t feel any fear. All he feels is anticipation. Even if Matt tells him, “sorry, I think you got the wrong message,” he’ll still have tried and that’s something.

A chance to do this again. That’s already more than he ever expected and he’s not throwing it away.

He doesn’t bother taking a deep breath before ringing the doorbell, just does it. It takes a few moments but eventually he hears Matt moving inside. Of course, he doesn’t look surprised in the least when he opens the door and it’s Frank on the other side.

“Hey,” Frank says, soft smile on his lips and Matt smiles back. He doesn’t have his glasses on, he’s wearing a shirt with his sleeves pushed up and several buttons open on his chest. He doesn’t have shoes on, just thick winter socks. Frank has a hard time not finding that adorable.

“Hi,” Matt says and then moves aside, “come on in.”

Frank nods and does it. After Matt’s closed the door, Frank puts the bag with the takeaway down on the floor so he can grab one of Matt’s hand and put it on the bouquet.

“They’re made of paper,” he starts, voice raspy, as Matt moves his fingers around, touch light. “I figured traditional flowers might not go over well.”

“Thank you,” Matt says and he sounds… Astonished. Like he’s not used to people doing nice things for him. Hell, Frank’s met his friends and he knows they’re nice; he figures Matt just keeps waiting for them to leave. It makes his heart clench and he makes a promise right there to never do that.

Once Matt is the one holding the bouquet, Frank picks the bag back up. He clears his throat, “I brought Italian for dinner.”

“It smells great.”

“Yeah?” Frank asks, smiling, and he’s pretty sure Matt knows what he’s asking because he smiles before answering.

“Carbonara, some asparagus pasta… Doesn’t sound like spaghetti; ticker than that. Cheese sticks, garlic bread, panna cota and tiramisu.”

“Wasn’t sure which one you preferred.”

“Tiramisu,” Matt immediately says and Frank laughs.

“Guess I’ll eat the panna cota.”

“We can share,” Matt says, smiling, and then he turns around and leads them to the kitchen area.

“It’s pappardelle, by the way. The pasta,” Frank clarifies and Matt hums.

“Haven’t had that in a while. Do you cook?”

“Yeah. Lived by myself for a few years before I met Maria,” Matt makes another humming sound, showing he’s paying attention, as he starts to take out papers, glasses and cutlery from the cupboards and drawers around him. Frank just starts taking the food out of the bag. “Like I said, she was traditional, but she also made it very clear she was no one’s maid. If she washed the dishes, I cooked. And vice-versa.”

He pauses as Matt brings the stuff to the table, but he turns to him with a smile, like he’s waiting for more. At least if Frank wants to share.

“She had weird cravings when she got pregnant with Lisa.”

“Yeah?” Matt asks, still with a smile and it makes Frank laugh, remembering the first time Maria asked him for something unusual.

“Sardine ice cream.”

Matt laughs, “that sounds disgusting.”

“It was. But I still learnt to make it. Of course, by the time it was frozen, she didn’t want it.”

Matt laughs again and it makes Frank keep the smile on his face as well. Matt moves back to the kitchen to get a bottle of red wine. He moves his fingers around the label, reading the name.

“Didn’t know wines made labels in braille,” Frank says, realizing it’s true as he says the words. How much stuff does he take for granted that other people actually have to think about?

“Not many,” Matt says and opens the bottle. “Michel Chapoutier started in the nineties, after he saw an interview with his friend, Gilbert Montagné, who is blind, and who said he wasn’t comfortable going to a wine shop alone, since he never knew which wine he was picking up. So Chapoutier started including braille in all of his bottles.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Frank says and Matt nods.

He pours himself just the tiniest bit, grabs the glass, smells the wine and then takes a sip, savoring. Frank can’t look away.

Then he smiles and puts the glass down, pouring some more wine into it and then doing the same to Frank’s glass.

“Let’s sit,” he says and Frank does as told.

They start with the entrees.

“It’s good. I don’t think I know this place.”

“I’m not surprised,” Frank says and smiles, “it’s outside Hell’s Kitchen.”

Matt laughs at that and Frank’s heart does a little skip at that. Damn, he’s got it bad.

They make light conversation as they eat. Matt tells him about the cases he’s been taking and Frank tells him about his book discussions with Leo, and the articles Karen is planning on writing about vets.

They do end up sharing the desserts, Frank cutting each portion in half.

By that point, they’re on their second bottle of wine, Matt red on his cheeks, and Frank feeling pretty relaxed himself.

“’Had a good bottle of rosé some weeks ago,” Frank finds himself saying.

“Yeah?” Matt asks, with a smile, leaning back on his chair.

“Sarah had it. Gonna ask her for the name, bring it by next time,” he says, before he can think twice, on how there is no actual reason to assume he’ll be coming by a second time. But Matt just keeps smiling.

“I’d like that.”

It makes Frank smile back and then they keep sipping from their glasses.

There’re things they should talk about but it seems like neither knows how to start the conversation. Or maybe they’re both afraid to unsettle the quietness around them.

It’s actually Matt who first brings it up, “there hasn’t been talk of the Punisher in a few weeks. And you don’t smell so strongly of guns.”

Frank still has one against his waist, which he’s sure Matt knows about, but in some cases, it’s definitely better to be safe than sorry.

“Yeah,” he starts, plays with his glass around, empty enough that no wine spills. “I didn’t start this to be a vigilante. It was about revenge for my family. And I have that. Continuing to be the Punisher… It feels like a step back, not forward. And I know…” He pauses, looks seriously at Matt as he continues. “I know I can’t do what I did and keep people in my life. Not those who matter.”

Matt doesn’t say anything right away, his eyes to the left of Frank’s eyes. But it doesn’t matter; he’s paying attention in all the ways that matter.

“I can’t do that.”

“I’m not asking you to do that, Matt,” Frank says, realizing it’s the first time he’s using his name in the whole night. Matt’s face does a little something, like he’s realized it too. “I’d never ask you to. It’s who you are.”

Matt makes a grimace at that. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

And Frank gets that. He knows what that’s like, when there’s so much violence about you it feels like there’s nothing else. Like everything else is a mask. But he also knows that’s something they hide behind, so that they don’t have to feel everything else.

“It’s who you are,” Frank repeats himself. “But it’s not all that you are.”

Matt’s chest moves as he inhales sharply. He blinks quickly a few times, eyes shiny and Frank sees his right hand twitch, like he’s looking for his glasses. Frank won’t begrudge him that protection, but he’s happy when he doesn’t actually go to find them.

“I want to help you when you’re in over your head,” Frank starts and Matt opens his mouth, so Frank keeps talking, knowing what he’s going to say. “I’ll keep to your rules. Except in a situation when it’s one of us or them.”

Matt closes his mouth, doesn’t say anything right away. Then he nods.

“What are you going to do the rest of the time?” He asks, curious and Frank shrugs.

“’Don’t know yet. I spent a few months in construction but I’m kind of done with that.”

“You like dogs,” Matt declares and it immediately makes Frank smile.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll look into working at a kennel. See if there’s any courses to learn to train them.”

“That sounds good,” Matt says and Frank feels… Content. There’s still a hole in his heart, always going to be there, but it feels smaller. Like he can walk around with it without it dragging him down. “So you’re going to stick around the city?” Matt asks and now his eyes aren’t turned anywhere near Frank’s. He’s nervous. Frank can’t help but to smile; here he was thinking he was being pretty damn obvious.

But then he remembers who this is, knows that Matt needs more than words, even more than gestures. He needs someone who keeps their word, who keeps showing him they mean what they say, that they mean when they want to stay by him.

So Frank moves a hand forward, grabs one of Matt’s, feels all the calluses on his fingers. There’s at least one cut on his palm.

“Yeah, I’m sticking around,” he says and then pauses. “And I’d like to do this again.”

“Dinner?” Matt asks, tilting his head and smiling, trying for joking, but falling a bit short.

“Date,” Frank forces himself to say and Matt blinks a couple times, genuinely caught by surprise, though whether it was because he truly hadn’t realized this was a date or because he thought Frank wouldn’t own up to it, who the hells knows. Then he smiles, squeezes Frank’s hand.

“I’d like that.”

“Good,” Frank says. Then he gets up, moves closer to Matt. He lets go of his hand so that he can put both hands around Matt’s face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers and Matt closes his eyes, leaning his head forward.

So Frank bends down and kisses him.

Usually he’d go for one deep kiss, but that’s not how Matt does it. Instead he drags it out, one short kiss after another, never letting their tongues touch. Frank can feel him smiling against his lips, which in turn makes him smile.

The kiss doesn’t get any more heated than that. Instead, it actually gets slower. It doesn’t feel like a first kiss, it feels much deeper than that.

Frank leans back, though he keeps his back bent so that they’re at the same height.

“At least I’m no one’s wife,” Matt says and Frank stares at him just for a couple seconds, not sure why he’d say that. Then he remembers the phone call, all those weeks ago, when Sarah kissed him. He laughs.

“Yeah, at least there’s that,” he goes back to kissing Matt, this time controls it, makes it deeper, and Matt moans. It makes Frank want things he hasn’t wanted in a long time.

He pulls Matt up by his arms, wrapping them around his body once he’s up, Matt putting a hand on his lower back and the other on his cheek, moving it around, feeling his stubble. Frank realizes he probably doesn’t know how he looks like and moves back. Matt makes a dismayed sound and Frank’s heart aches from how fond he feels.

“You wanna feel my face?” He asks, voice rough. Matt doesn’t answer with words, instead raises his other hand so that they’re both on Frank’s face, who keeps his arms around Matt, but loose.

Matt starts with the back of his head, moving his hands up so he can feel the difference between the hair Frank let grow and the parts he shaved. He doesn’t spend a lot of time on his hair, though, quickly moving to his forehead. He stays longer on that. When his fingers touch his eyes, they’re light. Then a hand finds his nose and Matt laughs.

“So this is what a nose that has been broken fourteen times looks like.”

Frank laughs too; that conversation feels like a lifetime ago.

Matt looks serious as he continues touching Frank’s face, finally moving to his cheeks. His face is tilted slightly down and to the right, eyes completely unfocused.

Then Matt touches Frank’s lips and he can’t help but to take a quick breath in at that.

“You have nice lips,” Matt says and it makes Frank laugh. He’s pretty sure that’s a first.

“I’m sure you say that to everyone you touch like this,” Frank says, doesn’t mean anything bad by it and he can tell Matt understands that, just laughs along with it. “So, what’s your final say, councilor?”

“You’re a handsome man, Frank,” Matt says, nothing but honesty in his tone.

“Bah,” Frank says and Matt moves a hand to the back of his neck, just below his head, and then squeezes.

“You are,” he says, and this time doesn’t let Frank reply, just pulls him so that they’re kissing.

Frank accepts its quick pace for some moments, but eventually forces Matt to calm down. He doesn’t want this to be rushed.

“Do you think we should not have sex on the first date?” Matt asks, voice sounding kind of wrecked, which immediately goes to Frank’s dick, which he’s pretty sure will mutiny if he says anything regarding a yes.

“I just want to take my time with you,” is what he settles on and Matt freezes at that, just for a second. Then he softens, smiles at Frank.

“I’d like that,” he says and when Frank moves back to kissing him, he accepts a slow rhythm.

Matt starts using his weight to move Frank backward, in the direction of the bedroom. Frank almost stops them by the sofa instead, enjoys the idea of them making out on it like a couple of teenagers, but he’s pretty sure they wouldn’t get back up and they’re both too old to be having sex on a sofa when there’s a bed just a few steps away. And with amazing sheets.

Frank moves his hands to Matt’s button down, opening up the rest of the buttons, slowly, one by one. He likes the idea of Matt hearing the fabric move around, the buttons slowly coming loose, more than if Frank simply ripped it open.

Just before they pass the threshold to the bedroom, Frank pushes Matt’s shirt off his shoulders, letting it drop on the floor. Then his hands are all over his chest and back, feeling the scars underneath his fingers. He frowns at the ones on his chest, lets go so that he can look down.

They match.

“Got them on my first round against Fisk.”

Frank raises an eyebrow at that and his astonishment must be pretty obvious even without being able to see it because it makes Matt laugh, just a short bark. “He didn’t do it himself.” There’s a pause and when he continues, he doesn’t sound amused anymore. “Nobu did it.”

Frank still doesn’t say anything, just moves both hands to his arms, moving them up and down, knowing there’s more to the story.

“It was Nobu who killed Elektra. The one you left for me.”

Frank stops moving for a second at that, then forces himself to continue. He doesn’t know what to say, but it also doesn’t feel right to simply move back to kissing. He makes a decision, lowers his hands so they’re around Matt’s, and squeezes.

“How about we just sleep?”

Matt doesn’t say anything right away. His breathing is coming in slow, but deep.

“I think, Frank Castle, that you’re more of a gentleman than I ever thought.”

Frank snorts at that, lowers his head so that he can kiss Matt on the forehead.

“And I think,” Matt starts again, waits until Frank has straightened back up and is looking at his face to continue, almost in a whisper, “that I’m in danger of falling in love with you.”

Frank remembers the words he said to Sarah a couple weeks ago. Says, “yeah, me too.”

Matt makes a noise at that, kind of desperate, and then he’s kissing Frank again, half like he never wants to let go, half like he expects this to be their last time and he wants it to make it real good.

So Frank turns so that Matt is the one to his back to the bed and walks them to it until Matt’s knees hit it and he pushes him onto it. He takes off his shirt, doesn’t make a show of it, and then drops on top of Matt, though making sure he doesn’t put all his weight on him.

He doesn’t kiss him again on the lips, instead goes from his cheek to just below his ear, down his neck, spends sometime around his collarbone.

“Harder or lighter?” He asks as he moves to a pectoral and Matt moans before answering.

“Harder.” Of course; figures altar boy would like a bit of pain.

But Frank doesn’t comment on it, just does as he’s told, keeps going down Matt’s chest, licks around his bellybutton and rubs his nipples with his fingers.

He kisses the skin right by his trousers, then moves his hands to unbuckle his belt, slowly lowers Matt’s fly, then his trousers, just enough to get access.

He blows on Matt’s dick through the boxers, made of an incredible soft material.

Matt moans on top of him and Frank leans back so he can look at him, at the way he has his head thrown back, long neck exposed, skin red.

“How do you wanna do this?” Frank asks, proud that his voice actually sounds pretty normal. He moves a hand so that he can rub Matt’s dick, feels it hardening against it by the second.

“What?” Matt asks, clearly not really following the conversation.

“I asked,” Frank squeezes, “how do you want to do this? I blow you and you come down my throat? Fuck you? The other way around? I’m not picky.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re going to kill me,” Matt says and Frank squeezes again, this time harder.

“’Shouldn’t say his name in vain, Matthew.”

Matt moans again, sounds completely wrecked and Frank honestly doesn’t know what he wants him to choose.

“You… You should fuck me,” Matt finally says and Frank kisses him on the hip.

“You sure, sweetheart?” He asks in a low tone and one of Matt’s legs does a little jump at that. “You like that? Being called sweetheart?”

Matt doesn’t say anything, clearly embarrassed, and Frank moves so that he’s back on top of him, kisses him quickly once on the lips, then on his cheek.

“You got nothing to feel ashamed about. I’m gonna make you feel real good,” he promises.

“I believe you,” Matt says and now he’s the one grabbing onto Frank so that they can kiss again.

Frank likes kissing and right now, he especially likes kissing Matt, the noises he makes against his mouth.

“Where do you have lube and a condom?” Frank finally asks and Matt moves a hand to the bedside table, fumbling for the top drawer. Frank moves so that he can open it, takes the stuff out and places them by Matt’s hip.

Then he gets up so that he can finally take off his shoes, then his pants and boxers. He puts his gun on the same drawer he took the lube and condom from, Matt following the movement with his head, but keeping quiet.

Once that’s done, he moves to Matt, doing the same to him, but slowly, caressing his skin with his fingers, kissing some parts as well.

There’s a lot of words going through his head, but he keeps them all quiet, prefers to utter them through touch instead.

Once Matt is naked as well, he moves him around, so that he’s turned stomach down.

“Your ass is amazing,” Frank says, grabbing the lube, and Matt snorts.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t believe the amount of comments I hear about it.”

“Yeah?” Frank asks, kind of laughing. Matt starts to answer, but doesn’t get through the first word before it turns into a moan, Frank pushing into him with one lubed finger.

Matt seems to forget what conversation they were having and Frank makes no mention of it, instead focusing on the beautiful sounds Matt is making.

He’s barely making any noises of his own, wants to catch all of Matt’s, wants to see him come unloose. Wants to show him he’s going to catch him, never let him fall.

Frank finds Matt’s prostate when he has two fingers inside him and it’s a good thing he decided to do this on a Friday because there is no way he’s letting Matt leave the bed the next day.

He tells Matt that, which makes him laugh.

“I have…” He starts, has to pause to catch his breath. “No problem with that,” he finishes on a sigh and Frank pushes a third finger inside him, which this time makes Matt move a bit, clearly uncomfortable. He slows down, makes sure he’s comfortable before going deeper.

They stay like that for some time, Frank getting harder and harder as the seconds go by, and Matt looking more and more debauched, pushing back on his fingers.

Finally, Matt moves a hand to encircle Frank’s wrist.

“I’m ready.”

“Ok, sweetheart,” Frank says, takes his hand away, then moves up so that he can kiss the back of Matt’s neck, tastes the salt from his sweat. “How do you wanna do this?”

“Thought we agreed you’d fuck me, Frank,” Matt says, in that little-shit tone and Frank slaps him light-hearted on the ass. From the sound Matt makes, that is definitely something to revisit.

“You wanna do this face to face? Ride me?” Frank asks and Matt moans, seems to melt even harder onto the bed. Then he turns his face, so that Frank can see it.

“Face to face. But you on top. Want to feel your weight.”

“You got it,” Frank says, tone raspy. He moves Matt carefully, then puts on a condom and slowly pushes in, makes sure to pay attention to Matt, doesn’t want him to feel any more pain than he absolutely has to. It helps to keep him focused; wouldn’t want to make a lousy show so early in the game.

“Okay,” Matt finally nods and Frank leans down; their chests aren’t quite touching but close to it, Matt’s legs wrapped around his waist and the reminder that theses thighs wrap themselves against necks on a regular basis just makes it even hotter.

Frank starts a slow, but deep pace. Waits until he’s bottomed out every single time before he pulls back, just the head in before he does it again. And again. And again.

Matt moves a hand to his own dick and Frank lets him, one hand by Matt’s head, holding himself up, the other on his face, thumb inside his mouth, though Matt is too busy moaning to really pay much attention to it. Still, it must make for interesting sensations.

Once it’s clear Matt is a second away from coming, Frank puts his mouth to his ear and whispers, “let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

“Frank,” Matt moans and then he’s coming, and the way he squeezes on Frank’s dick is all the push he needs to finish himself.

He doesn’t pull back before he lets himself drop on Matt, carefully. Matt is like an octopus; legs around his waist, arms around his neck and waist.

“That was great,” he whispers against Frank’s neck, who kisses his temple.

“Yeah? You up to do it again?”

“Yeah, Frank,” Matt moves a hand until he finds one of Frank’s, interlaces their fingers. “I wanna do this again. And the date. And the conversation. And even the partnering up to beat up criminals.”

Frank smothers a laugh against his face, “you say the most romantic things, darling.”

Matt makes a noise at that and this Frank has got to see. He pulls back a bit so that he can stare at his face, then smiles.

“You got a thing for nicknames, uh?”

“It’s my kryptonite. Don’t tell anyone,” Matt says, and he’s got a stupid smile on his face. Like he’s really happy.

Frank’s heart squeezes at the idea that he’s the one who did that.

“It can be our secret,” he promises and kisses Matt again.

“Sounds good,” Matt replies and Frank finally pulls back. He gets up to take the condom out, then goes to the bathroom to flush it down the toilet, opens the cabinets until he finds a clean towel and makes sure the water is warm before letting some fall on it. Then he walks back to the bedroom and cleans Matt.

“I could get used to this,” Matt says and Frank kisses him.

“Good,” he says, meaning it. Matt smiles and Frank doesn’t bother taking the towel back, just drops it on the floor. They get between the sheets, Frank on his back, with an arm around Matt, who has his head on his shoulder and a leg in between his.

“How about we spar tomorrow? I know a place,” Matt says and Frank makes a humming sound in agreement, eyelids already dropping.

Matt kisses his chest, right on top of a scar, and then Frank falls asleep, listening to their breathing.

.

Frank wakes up on his stomach, by the edge of the bed, with one arm actually hanging out. Matt is draped over him, the sheets just covering them from their waists down, Matt radiating enough warm Frank hadn’t even noticed the lack of them.

He slowly reacquaints himself with his surroundings, blinking his eyes a couple times. The blinds are open, so the sun is coming in, but it’s still early, it’s not too bright.

“’Morning,” Matt mumbles against his skin, kissing him on a shoulder blade and Frank makes a humming sound.

Then he turns around so that they’re face to face and he can kiss him. It doesn’t last long before Matt is pulling away with a face.

“Morning breath,” he says, which makes Frank laugh. Matt pouts at him, so Frank kisses him again, but just a closed-lipped peck. He moves a hand to his hair, petting it and making it even wilder. Matt’s cheeks are pink from sleep and he looks very relaxed; it’s a good look on him.

“You got a spare toothbrush?” Frank asks, in a low tone.

Matt has closed his eyes in satisfaction at getting his hair petted, so it takes a few seconds for him to finally nod. When he replies, he still keeps his eyes closed, “first drawer on the bathroom cabinet.”

“I’ll be right back,” Frank promises, kissing him on the forehead, and then getting up. He doesn’t bother putting his boxers on.

He’s back in the bedroom a few minutes later, bladder empty and teeth smelling clean. As he lies back down, it’s Matt’s turn to get up and go take care of business.

As he leaves the bedroom, Frank calls out, “hate to see you leave, love to watch you go.”

It makes Matt laugh, but he doesn’t bother turning around.

Frank just lies there with his eyes closed and hands behind his head as he waits. He feels peaceful, in a way that he hasn’t in a very long time.

He’s happy he made this decision, that he decided to take this chance.

Matt comes back and Frank opens his eyes, grabbing him by an arm and pulling him down until he’s on top of Frank, legs on each side of his waist.

“’Morning,” Frank says and kisses him. This time, neither stops anytime soon.

Frank could get used to this.

Eventually, the kisses do turn slower and Matt finally stops so he can speak. “How do you feel about brunch?”

“As a life choice?” Frank asks and gets a light tap on his arm for that.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“I thought you liked my-”

“Stop,” Matt says, but he’s laughing. He kisses Frank again, almost like he can’t stop himself. Frank doesn’t blame him; he gets the impulse. “I meant, as a food option.”

It takes Frank a few seconds to remember what they were talking about. “Does it involve getting out of bed?”

Matt laughs again, “yeah, it does. I don’t think I have that much food on my fridge.”

Frank makes a grunt at that.

“You know the good thing about brunch?” Matt starts, leaning down so that he’s speaking against his ear. “It’s between breakfast and lunch, so we don’t have to leave the bed anytime soon.”

“Well,” Frank starts, smiling, “guess that leaves you a few hours to convince me.”

Matt laughs and Frank puts a hand on his neck, turning his head so that he can stare at him. There’s an urge in him to say something, but he figures his body is already doing all the necessary speaking. So he just kisses him. Again and again and again.

.

They go to brunch. And then they walk around, sometimes holding hands, sometimes with Matt’s hand on Frank’s arm, and sometimes keeping their hands to themselves. They talk and laugh and there’s a part of Frank that is just waiting for the other shoe to fall, that doesn’t believe that this can last.

He tries his best to keep those thoughts hidden but as the sun goes down and they’re sitting on a bench in a park, Matt brings it up.

“You smell anxious.”

Frank doesn’t feel mad; a bit jealous that this only goes one way, but not mad, not when this is part of who Matt is and asking him to stop would be like asking him to stop breathing.

“Good things don’t tend to last to me,” he finally says and Matt nods, but he doesn’t say anything for a while, seeming to think over his words. Frank just waits him out.

Matt grabs his hand and interlaces their fingers before speaking, head tilted to Frank. “I have a knack for bringing disaster to the best things in my life. So maybe we’ll cancel each other out. Two negatives make a positive, right?”

Frank laughs at that. It figures the lawyer would use logic to make him feel better, and himself by association.

“Yeah, Matt, I guess you’re right.”

Matt kisses him, softly. After he stops, but doesn’t really move back, he says, “I like the way you say my name.”

“That’s good,” Frank says back. “’Cuz I like saying it.”

Matt laughs and leans his forehead against Frank’s. He assumes he’s closed his eyes, but can’t tell with the glasses.

“Come on,” Matt says, suddenly getting up and offering a hand to Frank, who accepts it and gets pulled to his feet. “I promised you a spar, didn’t I?”

“Lead the way, pretty boy,” Frank says and Matt blushes, just a bit. It’s precious and Frank kisses him on the temple just for it.

Even if tragedy does strike, at least they got this first.

Matt leads him back to his apartment, but forces him to stay outside – “otherwise we’ll never go” – as he gets a bag with gym clothes and gloves as well.

He walks them to an old gym – Fogwell’s – which even to Frank’s nose smells of sweat and dampness. He can’t imagine what it must smell like to Matt, but he doesn’t act bothered by it.

“My dad used to train here,” he explains, takes a key to open the door. “The owner knows me.”

Frank grunts in agreement, then follows him inside. They don’t bother going to the locker room to change, doing it right there.

While Matt warms up against the gym bag, Frank does his own exercises. Pull-ups, push-ups… It feels good, using his body for something that doesn’t involve hurting someone or running for his life.

He stops eventually, just stares at Matt, who obviously feels it, but doesn’t tell him to stop.

Eventually, he does slow down, and Frank goes to him, has to stop himself from just draping himself over Matt’s back. By the way Matt stops and turns to smirk at him, something in his body must have given the urge away.

“Come on, let’s do this,” is what Frank says, starts wrapping his hands, but Matt is quick to take over. “Your father teach you to do this?” He asks and Matt freezes for a second, but continues soon enough. He has his head lowered as he answers.

“No. He didn’t want me to fight. Wanted me to be more than he was; use my brain and not my fists,” he pauses, finally looks up. “He got me braille books pretty much as soon as I was out of the hospital, didn’t want me to get behind in school.”

“He was a good dad,” Frank says and Matt nods.

“The best,” he pauses again, and Frank waits him out. “He was the last thing I saw, you know? A few seconds later and he would have been too late, but the second he heard the crash he came running out.”

Frank turns his hand around so that he can squeeze Matt’s hands. “I’m glad you got that.”

“Yeah,” Matt says, smiling softly, but also sad, the type of sadness that has been scabbed over, but is never fully disappearing. Frank kisses him on the top of his head, then lets go, climbs into the ring.

He’s never been much of a boxer. He knows enough and he’s been in his fair share of fights – what the hell were a bunch of guys filled with testosterone going to do on a slow day? – but it’s not his preferred type of fighting, the whole jumping around on the balls of his feet, keeping his guard up, trying to get a good punch in while making sure he doesn’t get hit.

Boxing with Matt isn’t like any type of fight he’s ever been in, though. Matt almost seems to know what he’s going to try even before he does, moving back at the last second, Frank’s fists just hitting air.

Matt has a smile on his face, kind of wild, and it makes Frank smile too. He can feel his blood rushing through his veins, loves the feeling.

He takes a few hits so that he can finally get close enough to Matt to hit him, gets punched in an arm and on the side to get a good punch to Matt’s ribs, though neither of them is going at full strength. The idea is to have fun, not send someone to the hospital.

God, Nelson would have a field day, probably get a restraining order on Frank.

Eventually, Matt adds a few spins and somersaults simply because it’s like breathing to him. It’s been a long time since Frank has had to be on the defensive so much and the fact that Matt is so much more used to fighting non-lethally doesn’t help.

Matt is a force of nature and it takes all of Frank’s focus to not get pulled too far in.

Once he realizes he isn’t winning this if they keep going this way, he aims to bring Matt to the floor, figuring he’ll have a better chance there, what with being heavier than him. But once he does go down, it’s because Matt’s kicked his knees in, dropping onto his chest, putting each hand on one of Frank’s arms, making sure he’s paralyzed from the waist up, keeping his head away enough that Frank can’t headbutt him.

His legs are still free but he doesn’t have the flexibility Matt has to do some type of spin to get free. He still puts one hell of a struggle, knows that it’s not like Matt could keep this up forever, sees the sweat running down the side of his head, but eventually he stops.

“Good fight,” Matt says and bends down to kiss him. He lets go of Frank’s arms, who moves his hands to his waist, likes the way it feels against them. “Does it count as a second date when you haven’t gone home since the first?”

Frank laughs, “I don’t know. You’re the councilor.”

“Hmm,” Matt says, gets a serious look on his face, like he’s genuinely thinking about it. “I think it just makes it a really good first date.”

“Really good, uh?” Frank asks, but in a light tone, likes the joking vibe they’ve got going on. He doesn’t want to move anytime soon, is happy right where he is.

“Yeah,” Matt says, leans forward once more so that he can speak against Frank’s lips, “really good.”

“You’re a little shit,” Frank says, not letting him reply before he’s kissing him again.

They keep kissing for a while, but eventually Matt gets up, offering a hand to Frank, who takes it, though he tries to pull Matt back to him instead of getting up. But Matt is stronger than he looks and doesn’t budge. It only makes Frank hotter.

“Come on,” Matt says, laughing, “let’s go home.”

Home. It’s been a very long time since Frank has had one. Has wanted to have one, if he’s honest with himself. Matt’s smile softens, like he realizes that, and his thumb is drawing circles on Frank’s hand.

“Hey,” Frank suddenly says, finally getting up. “How do you feel about dinner at the Lieberman’s tomorrow?”

Matt raises both eyebrows, clearly caught by surprise. It’s a good look on him; Frank’s gotta find ways to make it return.

He knows it’s sudden, that maybe this really will crash and burn around them. A good first date – longer than 24 hours or not – doesn’t exactly spell out _happy ever after_. But those are overrated anymore. Frank wants a happy _now_ , and he’s not pulling back simply because that’s how “normal people” do it.

Matt is still just studying him, head tilted to one side, and Frank’s glad he had to take off his glasses for the fight. He’ll never force Matt to be without them if he doesn’t want to, but he hopes he can convince him to at least keep them away whenever they’re alone together.

“Okay,” Matt finally says. “That sounds great.”

“Good,” Frank says and bends down to kiss him.

 _That sounds great_. Yeah, it really does.


End file.
